


Some People Are Special

by JessenoSabaku



Category: One Piece
Genre: Eventual Romance, Family, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day Sanji's childhood grows farther away, and along with it his connection to his father. While he dreams of days he can never reclaim, Luffy dreams of him, and an unexpected relationship begins to develop, no matter how Sanji resists. AU. SanLu, mentions of Brook/Yorki and implied Frobin. Written for the One Piece Reverse Bang collaboration with twosecondslighter on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the One Piece Reverse Bang collaboration. Check out my partner, twosecondslighter, on tumblr for the art this piece was based off of! You can find it here: http://twosecondslighter.tumblr.com/post/130070452721/my-contribution-to-the-oprv-cover-piece-for-the
> 
> We worked extremely hard to finish this fic, even though it's a little late, so we hope you enjoy.

With a violent smack, the doors to the Baratie’s massive kitchen were thrown open, and in stormed the sous-chef. Two cooks near the door pressed together, almost dropping their knives in their haste to get out of the man’s way.

Patty looked up from his garnished dish, delicate parsley still dangling from his meaty fingers. Never one to miss an opportunity, he said with a smirk, “Careful, Sanji. I’m surprised that door still has its hinges, after all this time.”

“I’m surprised we still let you do detail work with those fuckin’ gorilla hands,” the sous-chef replied, giving Patty a harsh smack on the shoulder. To Patty’s right, Carne continued to work diligently, beard twitching in a poor attempt to conceal his amusement.

“What’s that—something got your eyebrows in a twist again?” Patty asked, shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. “It’s only been two weeks, and you’re already bitching more than usual. I thought you said being sous-chef would be easy.”

“It is easy when a certain ancient relic isn’t sending me on bullshit errands in the middle of the day,” Sanji half-shouted, hot breath mixing with the oppressive heat and the thick, conflicting scents of spices exported from all over the world. It’s amazing, he thought to himself, how fucking bad a kitchen can smell even when filled with the finest, freshest ingredients.

“The car again?” Carne asked, brushing a honey glaze on top of a slice of cake. He deftly handed off the plate to a waiter, who whisked it right out to the main floor.

“Wants me to go pick it up from the shop. He should just let the old clunker die.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Patty asked.

“No clue. He said he’d come down to the kitchen at ten,” Sanji sighed. He peered at the small wall clock in the corner of the room and saw that it had already been an hour since the old geezer promised to show. What was that shit-head thinking, sending Sanji away so close to lunch? “You’d think he’d be able to get down here on time, considering he sleeps in the same damn building.”

As soon as that sentence left his mouth, the head chef himself came barging in, much the same way the sous-chef had, and delivered a swift kick to his subordinate’s side.

“Some of us are busy with important tasks, unlike some shitty brats,” Zeff said coolly. “I’ve had a lot of paperwork to do. You think this restaurant stays afloat just because you idiots can use a frying pan?”

“Old man, this restaurant stays afloat in spite of you,” Sanji bit back, glowering.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zeff responded, unfazed, striding further into the kitchen. “Stop wasting time defending your pride and go do what I told you to.”

As Sanji turned to stomp out of the kitchen, he caught Zeff smirking out of the corner of his eye. The nerve of the bastard. Well, at least the mechanic’s shop was only a few streets away

Walking away from the Baratie, Sanji felt like he was stepping out of his own body. Every time he left, he knew--he was getting farther away from who he once was. That quiet little seaside restaurant was the axis of the earth. There, underneath the clinking of silverware and the laughter of wealthy people, Sanji had changed time and time again. With each rotation of winter, spring, and summer, he got farther away from the days when the Baratie felt more like a two-story shack than a restaurant, the damn creaky sign always swinging on one hinge, kissing the ground. The sign eventually got replaced, some papers were shuffled and signed, including the papers that turned Sanji into Zeff’s son.

That was seventeen years ago. And even now, after all that time, Sanji was still changing. The Baratie stood in the same damn place, with the same damn employees, and the same heat-filled life Sanji had grown up with and come to love. Yet each step he took, he got farther away from the days when the Baratie was nothing and he and Zeff understood each other.

His tumultuous thoughts took a short break as he drew up to the Franky House auto shop. Stepping into the lot, he cracked a smirk at all the broken-down cars waiting to be given new life. The owner, Franky, could fix just about any make and model, but he was well-known for buying automobiles that could no longer run, fixing them up, and selling them again. If the vehicle couldn’t be fixed, he sent it off to another branch of his business to be sold for scrap.

The shop itself was fairly small, more of a garage than anything, with enough room to work on two vehicles. A cramped office was connected to the left side of the garage. Out of this office walked a familiar-looking man with an unmistakably long nose.

“Usopp?” Sanji called out, and was met with a smile. They exchanged a quick one-armed hug that the cook immediately regretted. “Fuck, did you just get grease on my shirt?”

“Probably,” Usopp shrugged apologetically. “I clocked in an hour ago, but Franky’s already got me busy …”

Eyes narrowing, Sanji asked, “Do you not have classes today?” Normally Usopp worked in the evenings and left his afternoons open for college.

“No. Well,” Usopp rubbed his neck nervously, “I … decided to take a semester off. Not that I’m dropping out,” he added when Sanji gave him a suspicious look. “I just want to pay back a little more of what Nami loaned me last year.”

“Relax, you know she won’t charge you interest.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Usopp protested, and Sanji had to laugh at his deadpan expression.

“Taking a break will be good for you anyway,” he assured. “Are you working extra hours, then?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here almost all day every day, except for weekends,” the man explained brightly. “It’s great! Reminds me why I wanted to be an engineer so badly. Franky lets me work with him on his personal projects too. He even offered to share his apartment with me until I graduate!”

“You sure you want to do that?” Sanji raised his one visible eyebrow. “You know how he is, he’ll take over your life if you let him.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Usopp laughed lightheartedly. “We already spend so much time together, I may as well get what I can out of him.”

The young employee gazed fondly at the colorful Franky House logo bolted over the garage doors. The sign was relatively new--the old one was rusted and bland, so he and Franky had re-designed it together a year ago in commemoration of Usopp dropping out of technical school for art college. An old childhood friend settled his student debt so he could start fresh. Nami promised to loan him a certain amount each year too, and the rest Usopp made up for by working at Franky’s shop.

“I really owe him a lot,” Usopp remarked softly. “Nami too.”

“Don’t forget who introduced you to Nami,” Sanji reminded him with a playful kick to the shin.

Usopp smiled bashfully. “Well, anyway. You here to pick up the car?”

“Yeah. You done with it yet? I don’t see it in the lot,” Sanji trailed off, scanning the area for any sign of Zeff’s beaten-down, white Volkswagen.

“Well, that’s--”

“Hey, Sanji!” Both young men turned to see Franky crossing the street with long strides, a couple large cases of cola balanced over one shoulder.

“Perfect timing,” Usopp remarked with a relieved sigh.

“Sorry, I ran to the gas station to get some soda. Just give me a second,” Franky spoke as he walked past the other two men and ducked into the office. Only a few seconds later, he reappeared through the doorway and tossed a key at Sanji.

The cook deftly caught it, frowning. “This isn’t our key.”

Franky blinked slowly. “You mean, the key to the old Volkswagen? Yeah, it’s not.”

“Then what the fuck is this for?” Sanji demanded, shaking the unfamiliar key.

Just as confused as Sanji, the mechanic pointed wordlessly across the lot to a blue hatchback Volkswagen, one side of the hatch scratched up, but otherwise fairly new-looking. “I told Zeff I’d fix up the paint but he said to leave for later.”

“What the hell? We didn’t order a new car.” Sanji’s voice grew to a higher pitch, but he couldn’t help it. “Is that one of your fixer-ups?”

“No, it’s a used car from another dealership, but Zeff ordered it through me. I mean, if you don’t believe me, I have the proof of sales in my office. Zeff signed for it and everything--I watched him do it myself.”

Sanji’s entire body shuddered. Zeff doesn’t make deals without Sanji. It’s always been that way. Ever since the loans and the papers for the Baratie were cleared, they always shared the responsibility and the burden of each major company and life decision. Or, at least Zeff asked Sanji’s opinion. Fear climbed up his spine, using his ribs as stepping stones, and a paralyzing realization washed his face pale.

If you want to get rid of something, why would you tell the person who might get in your way?

He forced his jaw to unclench. He almost didn’t want to know the answer, but he had to ask: “What about the old car?”

“Right over here, in the garage,” Franky shouted, hastening to heave open the right shutter-door. Inside, looking just the same as always, was the white bug that Sanji spent a lot of his childhood inside. “See? Haven’t even touched it yet.”

Sanji’s stomach nearly dropped out. The car was still there. He’d been so sure it wasn’t.

Usopp put an arm around Sanji’s shoulder, gently shaking him from his stupor. “Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere. Zeff said it was on its last legs, so he sold it to Franky for repairs. I bet in a couple of months, Franky will have it good as new again.”

Looking up into Usopp’s hopeful, concerned face, Sanji wanted to believe there was nothing more to this turn of events, but he was finding it hard.

“I promise, the new car might be used, but it’s pretty super,” Franky said with a reassuring smile. “And besides, you can visit anytime you like and see how the old one is doing.”

“What I don’t get is why everyone but me knew about this,” Sanji spat bitterly, heart still racing. He tried to throw the Volkswagen another glare with renewed viciousness, but he faltered.

“If you want me to, I’ll talk to Zeff and we’ll figure something else out,” Franky offered. “I know how important that car is to you and …” He raked his fingers through his hair, completely dishevelling the once-perfect blue arch. “Wow. Wow! I can’t believe he did that without asking you! That is super uncool!”

Franky was visibly working himself into a frenzy, frayed hair framing his angry-red face.

“You know what we should do? We should take my truck, go down there right now and--”

Franky was already stomping towards the truck when Usopp grabbed him by the hem of his Hawaiian shirt, trying to reign him in.

“Sanji, please,” Usopp begged.

“As much as I want to see you suplex Zeff,” Sanji laughed uneasily, “It’s alright. I won’t let him off easy, but I don’t have time to deal with it right now. Just …” He stopped, glancing at the old Volkswagen, resting forlornly in the garage. “Just make sure nothing happens to it, alright?”

“I won’t scrap it,” Franky declared with determination. “Even if, for some reason, I can’t fix it. And I’m super serious, any day you want, you can visit. Every day!”

“Maybe not every day,” Usopp whispered.

“What was that, Picasso?” Sanji asked, and the long-nosed man raised his arms in surrender. The young chef took a few moments to breathe deeply and regain his composure. “Well, anyway, thanks. I’ve got to get back and prepare for the lunch rush. I’ll have a talk with the old shit-stain later tonight.”

“Remember, sleeper hold,” Franky said, adding this completely unhelpful advice with conviction.

“Uh-huh,” Sanji responded, waving goodbye. He turned and headed for the new vehicle, climbing unwillingly inside. The shock was long-gone, but anger pooled higher in his chest with each passing second. He looked for a cigarette lighter, but of course, there wasn’t one. The old car had a cigarette lighter. Their perfectly good, old car.

“Stupid fuckin’ geezer,” Sanji hissed to himself, and pulled out of the lot.


	2. Chapter 2

The muted whisper of overlapping waves just barely reached Sanji’s ears. It was this sound that woke him, instead of the bug’s motor, which puttered to a loud halt. Night had fallen since Sanji fell asleep, moonlight gently caressing the roof of the car’s interior.

“We’re here, brat,” came Zeff’s gruff voice. “Get up, and let’s go.”

Sanji sat up in the backseat, reluctant to climb out of his goldfish-print blanket--the one Zeff had bought for him on his eighth birthday just a few weeks ago. But today was an important occasion--and Zeff had already yanked the back door open, tapping his foot impatiently. The old chef laughed as his son all but rolled out of the car in a haze of exhaustion.

They left the car parked on the side of the street and walked for more than twenty minutes, Zeff hobbling along on his bum leg and Sanji leaning sleepily into his side. They walked until the smooth, flat pavement gradually began to incline higher and higher, and the houses and buildings dropped off one by one. And then, at the end of their uphill journey, they saw it.

Stretched out on top of the tallest cliff on the island was the dome-shaped steel skeleton of their dream restaurant. The infant Baratie’s half-developed head knifed into the sky, crowned with metal and wire cables.

“Looks like they’re getting ready to fill in the walls for the bottom level,” Zeff noted, observing some spatterings of wood and drywall across one side of the structure. From what they could tell, the floor for the second level had already been more or less installed.

“Hey,” Zeff prodded the young boy with an elbow, “let’s go take a look up close.”

They climbed over the makeshift fence of caution-tape sequestering the construction site and crept up to the deserted building. A crane loomed overhead like a sleeping titan. They circled the restaurant, tiptoeing over spare parts and rough patches of ground, until they came to a side of the structure where the floor and wall of the second level were split wide open in an asymmetrical V-shape. Zeff settled one foot firmly on the apex of that V and began to deftly climb.

Sanji latched with both hands onto the tail of the old man’s shirt. “Are you crazy?!” he shrieked.

Throwing a cool smile over his shoulder, Zeff responded simply, “You better hurry, brat, or you’ll get left behind.” He continued his ascent, slipping from Sanji’s stubby fingers.

“You’re gonna fall on your ass! I can’t catch you, you know!” the young boy shouted, but Zeff just kept climbing, quickly reaching the second floor. He leaned down and stretched out a hand.

“Come on,” Zeff urged.

Sanji hesitated briefly, but realized he had no alternative but to follow the crazy coot. He carefully crawled up towards Zeff and clasped his palm. Together they worked to pull Sanji up the rest of the way, his feet scrabbling for purchase. He clutched at Zeff’s strong back and allowed himself to be lifted bridal style over the ridge of the second floor.

All hesitation was forgotten once Sanji had planted both feet firmly. He rushed to the side of the building facing the sea. Though obstructed by the Baratie’s cagelike metal skeleton, the moon-kissed water shone brightly through. The young boy clutched both hands around two bars, pressing his face in the space between. The miles-off waves were reflected in his crystal blue eyes, the reflection looking far more beautiful.

Zeff drew up beside him, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. “So, what do you think, brat? Is the view as good as you expected?”

“It’s so much better,” Sanji breathed.

This right here is where they would work and live for all their days. He looked down at his feet, deciding that he would put his bed right there. Zeff would stay across the hall, just a few leaps away. He couldn’t wait for the first night they could sleep in the Baratie, and turn Zeff’s dream into their home.

His imagination ran wild--they would have a deck patio out back, overlooking the ocean. The seaside wall of the dining floor would be made of huge windows, taller than a full-grown man, so the patrons inside could see what they were missing. They’d breath the same rush of adrenaline and peace he was feeling right then, watching the water wash away the horizon.

“Our restaurant,” Sanji began with quiet determination, then threw his arms in the air and shouted to the sea, “will be the best in the world!”

His voice echoed down the side of the cliff, just barely reaching the water below. Zeff cuffed him, hissing, “Keep quiet, brat. You’ll get us in trouble.”

“I’ve got so many ideas,” Sanji said, levelling Zeff with the brightest smile he’d shown in years. “Especially for decoration. Your sense of style is terrible, so let me handle it.”

The old chef’s mustache twitched with a rumble of bated laughter. “You’re getting too far ahead of yourself. It’s _my_ restaurant--don’t order me around, you damn squatter.”

“You’ll have to let me do your room, too,” Sanji pressed on, ignoring him. “I won’t let my dad live like a monk. Not in our restaurant.”

Zeff cupped the side of Sanji’s face with a palm and pulled him roughly to his side.

“Silly eggplant,” the man chided affectionately. “Let me have the Baratie. It’s an old man’s dream. A sailor sets out to discover new seas, you should do the same someday.”

“I’ll stay here forever,” Sanji asserted with all of his heart. “The Baratie is my dream too.”

“It’s not wrong to want something different,” Zeff assured him.

“But I don’t want something different,” the little boy insisted, brows drawing together in anger.

Zeff could only sigh knowingly.

“Well, I guess it’ll be …” he hesitated, “... easier … with you around.”

They held a long, awkward silence, listening to the gentle, far-off lapping waves. Sanji’s face was burning, red hue just barely hidden by his fringe. He felt Zeff’s thumb stroke his temple in a moment that seemed to last for hours. All too quickly, the warm hand disappeared from Sanji’s face. He glanced upwards, uncertain, and found Zeff returning the same perturbed stare. He felt as if scales had fallen from his eyes, and he could see Zeff for the first time. In the wake of their honest feelings, what face should they show each other? It was easier to put on the disguise of friends.

The masks came back as quickly as they fell off. Zeff cautiously smiled down at his son, who had crammed his hands into his pockets and was kicking an invisible stone.

“Here,” Zeff said, bending down. He produced his phone from his pocket, holding it out. “Before we go, why don’t you take some pictures for us?”

He laughed as Sanji eagerly seized the phone and opened up the photo application. It was a really shitty, old touch-screen, but it worked well enough. Sanji didn’t care if the pictures were high-definition, he just wanted proof that he was here. He never wanted to forget.

He tried to snap a picture of himself and Zeff, too, but the phone didn’t even have an option to reverse the camera, so all the pictures came out cropped. Zeff’s huge nose especially had trouble fitting in the frame. Sanji complained loudly about all of this as they climbed back down to the ground and meandered away from the construction site. Despite how he was running his mouth, he still kept looking back toward the Baratie over and over until it disappeared from view.

They got back to the car and climbed inside. Zeff drove to a park a couple miles away and parked on the grass beneath some trees. Foliage wouldn’t do much to conceal a white bug, but at least it was something. The two of them grabbed some granola bars from their lunch bag, pulled Zeff’s blanket and pillows out of the trunk, and climbed into the backseat. They munched away as they struggled to find a comfortable position. Sanji managed to settle himself with his feet on Zeff’s stomach, much to the older man’s dismay. The young boy smoothed out the goldfish on his blanket and leaned back into his pillow.

“Just a few more months at the most, and we’ll have our own beds,” Zeff hummed, brushing crumbs from his goatee.

He and his son had given up everything for the Baratie. They took out massive loans, left Zeff’s old apartment, and moved everything they owned to a storage unit near the construction site. Zeff was working part-time so they wouldn’t starve. For the past few months, future Baratie employees Patty and Carne had let Zeff and Sanji crash at their shared apartment. Of course, there were only a certain number of nights in a row they could stay before the landlord started asking questions. So when they had no apartment to sleep in, they sought out a shitty motel, and when there was no money for a shitty motel, they slept in the Volkswagen.

“It’s not that bad, though. Living like this, I mean,” Sanji argued, but the yearning for a proper place to rest was written all over his face.

“Well, hurry and get to sleep--it’ll be a ten to twelve hour drive back, so we have to get up early and eat.”

“Yes, Mom,” Sanji said, earning a knee in his ribs. “Ow, okay, okay, I’m going to sleep.”

The young boy pulled up the covers to his chin and gave one quick look at the stars, still gradually emerging in the night sky.

“Goodnight, shitty geezer,” Sanji quipped, then closed his eyes.

“Goodnight, eggplant.”

 

~&~

 

When Sanji returned from Franky’s shop to the Baratie, the dining floor was already thrumming with the voices of patrons, all dressed to the nines and glittering like pearls. Sanji glanced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, at the patio out back that overlooked the ocean, and found it half-full. They’d be swamped with work within the hour.

On the small stage in the center of the dining floor, the night’s entertainment was setting up. He spied their full-time performer, in all his tall, ungainly glory, stooping to help a lovely young woman set up her harp. The older man tipped his hat and bowed low to the woman, thick afro of curls nearly touching the floor. Then he turned and, upon seeing Sanji, bade her goodbye with a hand, and jogged to meet his friend.

“Hey Brook,” Sanji greeted, clasping the man’s hand firmly. “Miss the house band yet?”

“Oh, dearly,” Brook’s chest heaved with a sigh. “Our guest band is wonderful, but no matter how good you are at playing, getting used to a new setup is hard.”

“Especially for this guy, I’m guessing,” Sanji grinned and tapped the starched lapel of Brook’s black suit.

“If anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me. Yohoho!”

“Here, hold on, your cravat is crooked,” Sanji muttered. He reached out to adjust the garish orange neck piece.

“Oh my, so domestic. See, you’re the reason the ladies don’t ask me out anymore.”

“The reason they don’t ask you out is because you’re an old pervert,” Sanji drawled, giving one last tug on the man’s cravat. Then he patted him on the chest again. “You’re already ninety, just croak already.”

All jokes aside, Brook was pretty amazing. Despite his age, arthritis had forgone him, his organs all functioned to their greatest capacity, and his mind seemed there to stay. He was an invaluable musician, and a long-time family friend. Brook claimed he would work at the Baratie until his dying breath, and Sanji intended to hold him to that.

A loud bang came from the direction of the kitchen, drawing their attention. Zeff stomped out onto the dining floor, looking exhausted, and gestured wildly in Sanji’s direction.

“See?” he groused, “The shitty brat’s right there.”

Sanji was about to shout a response, until he saw the attractive young redhead who followed Zeff out of the kitchen.

“There you are, you dumbass,” Nami called out, and they both met each other in a hug.

Sanji looked her up and down, taking in her stunning blue evening dress. “My, my. I never thought it would be possible for you to look so many leagues lovelier than usual.”

“You like?” She twirled gracefully, showing off the open back of her dress, smooth, creamy shoulder-blades flexing. She came to a stop with a hand on her hip and a cat-like grin.

“Even an old man like me can see the true depth of your beauty,” Brook hummed, then bent at the waist in a bow. “I could just die of happiness, if only you would let me see your--”

“Don’t start,” Nami warned, waving a finger in his face.

“Where are you going, dressed so finely?” Sanji asked.

“The question is, where are _we_ going? Did you forget? I told you I was going to pick you up for the luncheon at eleven-thirty.”

“And I, my sweet peach,” Sanji said, dipping to take her hand and kiss it, “said I couldn’t accompany you today.”

“I can’t go without a date,” Nami commanded with a stormy face. “Besides, we have to be there for Robin.”

“For Robin-san?” Brook questioned. He’d met Robin once or twice when she came to have dinner at the Baratie.

“She had some legal trouble going on for a while, and the Marines were harassing her. Just recently she got it sorted out with them, and as a show of good faith they’ve invited her to one of their luncheons,” Nami explained, rolling her eyes. “Though, ‘good faith’ isn’t what I’d call it.”

“I will ask no more,” Brook said, casting a piteous look between Nami and Sanji.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Nami-san,” Sanji shrugged regretfully. “I’d love to go with you, but the lunch rush gets crazy here. I’m the sous-chef now, and I have to take responsibility.”

“Really,” Nami said blankly, then jerked a thumb towards Zeff, who was still nearby, giving sharp instructions to a waiter. “Because your old man said Patty was managing everything just fine without you.”

“What?” Sanji growled, feeling the onset of a headache.

He sauntered over to his father, and he must have had a frightening look on his face, because the waiter turned tail and ran before Zeff was finished speaking.

“Hey, shitty geezer,” Sanji accused loudly, “What’s this about telling Nami I’m not needed in the kitchen? The fucking lunch rush is coming up, I’ve got a job to do.”

“Patty’s got it under control,” Zeff answered simply, mustache twitching. “If he needs help, Carne can pitch in.”

The young chef grit his teeth. “That’s not the point. _You_ promoted _me_ , so I’m not gonna make Patty do my job.”

“Yeah, well, _your_ little friend followed me into the kitchen asking me about you, and almost fucked everyone up, and we’re not gonna work around her for the next several hours.”

“Don’t talk about Nami-san that way. She’s reasonable, just give me a second to convince her--”

But Zeff had stopped listening, already heading back to the kitchen.

“Hey!” Sanji shouted. “Don’t walk away from me! What about the fucking car?”

“What _about_ it?” Zeff responded. Without turning around he waved Sanji away lazily, like batting a fly out of the air. “Stop worrying so much and take a break once in a while. Patty, Carne, and I can handle it. The restaurant won’t burn down without you.”

Even after Zeff disappeared, Sanji stayed rooted to his spot, fuming. He put a hand to his forehead, pressing fingers into his skin as hard as he could. Nami came up beside him and rubbed small circles in his back.

“He’s right, even if he has a terrible way of saying it. Let’s just go have some fun, see Robin, and eat somebody else’s food. It’ll be nice for a change to not have to cook.”

Sanji intended to glare at her, but it was no use. As soon as he saw her lovely face his heart melted, and furious rage cooled into mild disappointment.

“Just let me go upstairs and change, okay?”

She smiled and nudged him on with a gentle push.

 

~&~

 

Never in his life had Sanji thought that one could find a more stuffy clientele than the Baratie’s, but the Marines were coming pretty fuckin’ close to pulling ahead into first place. Every officer, even the ladies, wore a white suit starched until it was bulletproof, armed to the gills with gold and silver cuff-links, cocktails, and a hasty explanation of how they came onto the force. Their feigned grace left Sanji to make some colorful assumptions. These were the kinds of people who owned a nice, two-story house and a well-kept garden, but shucked off their pants and dribbled corn chips with each step as soon as no one was watching.

Immediately after arriving, Sanji and Nami were flagged down by Robin, who had saved them a couple seats. A few Marines recognized Sanji from having dined at the Baratie, and showered him with good-natured questions about the restaurant. Thanks to this, all attention was shifted from Robin, and they passed the time before lunch with no incident.

Before they ate, there was a brief speech made by a Vice Admiral, a towering gray man with a scar across his temple. Then after him, a blue-haired, garishly-dressed man with a bright red nose stepped up and began loudly rallying his fellow officers. Sanji couldn’t bring himself to listen to any of it. He was too busy thinking about Zeff. How long had the old man planned to get a new car? Was he actually getting rid of the old one, or would he buy it back? Fuck him, and fuck Patty, Sanji thought, how dare that asshole do my job for me. He believed in Patty, and knew that if he needed to, he had the ability to be a great sous-chef. But Sanji had worked hard to gain Zeff’s trust as a professional, and after only two weeks, he was already being told they could get on without him.

The speeches ended to some polite applause, and then lunch was served. Sanji ate slowly, listening to Nami and Robin chatter softly back and forth. For all the cash the Marines poured into covering up their mistakes, they apparently couldn’t spare any to hire a decent chef. Their cook probably had a five-star review pinned to his lapel, like a war-hero’s medal--but that didn’t make the parmesan chicken and greens any less boring. Sanji didn’t care how tender the meat was.

He heard some music start up and saw that a piano had been wheeled out, a young pink-haired Marine tenderly groping at the white keys with closed eyes. Sanji smiled and wished Brook well in his heart. His eyes trailed down to the chicken still speared on his fork, and the mirth fled from his face.

He wanted to meet the chef who made this. He wanted to look them straight in the eye, and ask them: is this the extent of your dreams? Sanji tried to imagine the life of sir five-star, the prestigious graduate of an important culinary school, who probably picked up cooking like a tissue off the ground. The sparse skeleton of five-star’s past and future was clouded by a fog of memories. Heading those dense clouds, like an undead knight, was the recollection of Zeff’s rough hands, teaching Sanji how to knead bread for the first time. The knight charged forward on a horse bred from Sanji’s failures. Each bland soup he ever ladled out, every half-baked pot roast--he remembered them all. Because Zeff dreamed of something more than mediocrity.

Sanji watched as a dessert buffet was rolled out, totaling over eight meters in length after all the tables were lined up against the wall. None of the helpers looked like chefs, though, and none of them returned to the kitchen. Eventually he spied a couple of white-clad men busing the buffet. They retreated into a door a few feet away, which he assumed was the kitchen, and another man came out to replace them. Sanji seized this chance and approached the man.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Are you part of the kitchen staff?”

“Yes, sir,” the man responded formally. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Well, Sanji thought, he wins points for politeness.

“I have some questions about the meal,” Sanji said, and handed over his business card--freshly printed three days ago. “I’m interested as a fellow chef. May I speak with one of the cooks in charge?”

The man received the card with both hands, observing Sanji’s credentials with an impressed expression. Even so, he returned the card.

“I’m sorry, sir, but if you want to talk to the men in charge, you need to file a form with the Marines.”

“A form?” Sanji asked incredulously. “What kind of form?”

“A standard comments and questions form. You should call your local Marine office and ask them to fax you the form for our department,” the man droned on, obviously having given this same speech to multiple people. He regretfully continued, “Then you fill it out and send it in, and you’ll get a reply. If the reply isn’t satisfactory, you can then request a meeting …”

“But the head chefs are _here_ right?” Sanji pointed the door the man had emerged from. “Literally in the next room?”

The man shrugged. “Sorry, I know it’s a pain, but I don’t make the rules.”

“Hey, did I hear right?” an unfamiliar voice called out behind Sanji. He turned and saw a young, dark-haired man arriving to join the discussion. A rugged scar adorned his left cheek, a perfect complement to the unnerving smile cleaving his face. “You said we can’t talk to the head chef?”

The server nodded suspiciously.

“Ah, damn. That’s a shame,” the dark-haired man sighed. “And I promised Garp I’d pass on his comments, too …”

“Garp? Vice Admiral Garp?” the server perked up. “What relation do you have with him?”

“We’re not too close. He’s only my shitty grandpa,” the man beamed, scar stretching under his eye in a sneer.

The server’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh … Oh! I am so sorry, sir, I did not recognize you at first. How could I forget Garp-san’s precious grandson? Um … just give me a moment. I will alert the chefs immediately.”

“Make sure you do. Garp’s pretty busy with the other officers right now--I don’t think he’d appreciate having to pay you a visit himself,” the brunette warned, his plastered smile sending the kitchen help scurrying.

After the server was well out of range, Sanji raised his eyebrow at the grandson of the apparently venerable Garp.

“I’m guessing you didn’t promise your grandpa jack shit.”

The other man chuckled proudly. “Nope.”

“I doubt you were trying to assist me,” Sanji surmised. “You have some complaints about the food too, then?”

“It was fuckin’ boring, right?” the man agreed. “You’d think that if anybody above a commander shows up to a Marine party they’d try a little harder. Even the dessert buffet is disappointing. The pie’s crust is spongy and the tiramisu tastes way too bitter.”

He said this while ham-fistedly shoving desserts into his mouth, several cheap plastic plates precariously balanced between the fingers of one hand. Sweet mother of the chef’s creed, even the plates and utensils at this party were a joke. Sanji’s lone blue eye flickered between the plates in the other man’s hand and his stupid, satisfied grin.

“And so you decided to devour half the buffet,” he commented, completely unimpressed.

“Do you really think anybody’s gonna go back for seconds?” the man scoffed, spraying bits of pie crust. “I’ve got to make sure that no matter what, nothing goes to waste.”

Sanji patiently swept food debris and spit from his face. In spite of his utter disgust, he felt his heart thud briefly. Usually only chefs cared much about whether their food ended up in a trash can. Trying to keep the genuine pleasure out of his tone, he said, “That’s … thoughtful of you. I guess. ”

“Right?” the other man laughed lightheartedly, mouth still stuffed.

“Luffy!” Sanji heard Nami shout. She was jogging over to them, long dress swishing around her feet. As soon as she arrived, she made sure to give old scar-cheek a smarting smack on the shoulder. “How many times do I need to tell you to chew with your mouth closed?!”

As if in retaliation, he held a plate up to his face and let three cookies tumble into his mouth. “It’s fine,” he said, speech muffled almost beyond intelligibility. “Everyone here knows me already. They won’t care.”

“But think of how you make Robin and I look!” Nami groaned, rubbing her temples.

“This a friend of yours?” Sanji asked Nami.

“More like my charge,” she sighed, gesturing lazily at the dark-haired man. “Sanji, meet Luffy. We’ve known each other ever since primary school.”

Sanji’s jaw went slack. “ _This_ is Luffy?”

So this was the boy Nami relentlessly complained about when she and Sanji hung out. But he looked so unassuming. Though, he thought to himself, maybe he should take some hints from the rugged scar on the boy’s cheek.

“Wait--Sanji?!” Luffy shouted, pointing at Sanji. “You’re the chef guy Nami told me about! The one who does a lot of seafood! Can you make unagi sushi rolls?”

Sanji frowned. “Of course. What kind of question is that?”

“I bet you can cook all kinds of meat!” Luffy said, mouth wide open in amazement. “Make me some meat!”

“Is food all that matters to you?” Nami chided.

“Well, it is the great equalizer. Hey, by the way, hold these for me, would you?” he said, all but shoving his dessert plates into her hands.

She grimaced. “What? Why?”

“Sanji and I are gonna go chew out the shitty head chef!” Luffy shot Sanji a grin. “That _is_ what you were gonna do, right?”

The blonde huffed and turned his face to avoid Nami’s narrowed gaze. “… Maybe.”

Luffy laughed heartily. “I can already tell you’re a great cook.” He clasped one of Sanji’s hands, as if they’d known each other for years. “You’ll make something for me sometime, right?”

Sanji’s hand jumped a little at the contact. His skin tingled uncomfortably. “I … don’t know. Maybe if Nami-san is with you …” He carefully slid his hand out of the other man’s grip.

Nami quickly returned the dessert to the buffet. As she came back to her friends, she saw the head chef emerge from the kitchen and head their way. She hissed, “You two, don’t make a scene! Just forget about the food and leave the cooks alone.”

“But--” the two men protested in tandem.

She grabbed them both by their collars and dragged them out onto the main floor. “You’ve got plenty of better things to do with your time. Look, they’re opening the floor to some dancing.” She released Sanji and took Luffy’s hand, pulling him along. “Come on.”

“Wha--hey, Nami!” Luffy whined. He turned back to Sanji, looking strangely forlorn, but allowed himself to be tugged away in the end.

“Nami-san left me to dance with another man …” Sanji murmured, disappointment settling into his chest.

A hand pressed into his back, startling him. He found Robin had appeared at his side, wearing her usual mischievous, keen smile.

“Sorry. Thought you might need a partner,” she offered.

Sanji’s heart fluttered. “Oh, I definitely need you.” He bestowed her hand a soft kiss and led her onto the dancefloor.

As they danced and exchanged pleasant chitchat, Sanji snuck brief a few brief glances at Nami and Luffy, who were twirling around not too far off.

“So you met Luffy?” Robin asked.

“Ah--” grinned, guilty at having been caught. “Yeah. Do you know him too?”

“Yes. During the days I was running from the government and my … “contractors,” I met him.” Shadows stole over her lovely face, green eyes darkening. “He helped me face my demons.”

A very simple, dry explanation, and yet very powerful. Robin had once been involved in some very illegal excavation work in the Alabasta desert. When she tried to extricate herself from that life, the shady cretins who’d employed her tried to chase her down and get rid of her. Sanji still didn’t know the full details, just that she came to the Baratie with a party of those thugs, and since that time, fled to the Baratie to hide whenever she had no safe place to go. Eventually she bartered a confession and community service for Marine protection and amnesty. Thanks to her testimony, her former bosses were arrested.

Sanji would never forget the sight of Robin in his room, sitting on his bed with her head in her hands--only a fracture in her stoic mask, but still the weakest he’d ever seen her. And there was nothing he could say or do to fix it. Yet, this kid “Luffy” had helped her when no one else could.

He turned to watch Luffy again. The dark-haired man was grinning, pulling Nami into unwilling pirouettes.

“He must be pretty amazing.”

“You have no idea,” Robin remarked softly.

Luffy caught Sanji’s stare and gave him an ecstatic wave. The cook simply smirked and returned his attention to Robin. All the while, the older woman scrutinized him with a sly smile.

 

~&~

 

The luncheon concluded with relative peace--the head chef went undisciplined, since Nami all but dragged Sanji and Luffy out of the building as soon as the dancing and pleasantries concluded. Sanji slid into the back of Nami’s car, letting Robin take the passenger’s seat. Just as Nami was closing the driver’s side door, Luffy ran up and caught it.

“Hey, I’m coming with you guys,” the man announced cheerfully.

“What?” Nami snapped. “I thought you came here with Garp!”

“Yeah, but I sure don’t plan on leaving with him,” Luffy said, pulling open the door to the backseat before Nami could lock the car. “Excuse me,” he said and dove into the back, climbing across Sanji’s lap.

“You damn fugitive, just go home. Haven’t you caused me enough trouble already?”

“I’ll go home eventually,” Luffy replied noncommittally, buckling himself in. “I want to see Robin home--I hardly got to talk to her at all tonight. And besides, I didn’t get to talk to Sanji either.”

He smiled broadly at a completely flustered and frustrated Sanji.

“What’s there to talk about?” the blonde asked irritably.

“Meat!” Luffy cried, throwing his hands into the air, “Or, more specifically, what I have to do to get your meat.  Nami says you work at a really fancy restaurant, but I’m not really picky--it can be ordinary meat. I don’t think I can afford something expensive anyway. I get a friend’s discount, right?”

“Of course,” Sanji replied smoothly, and held up three fingers. “For you, a special deal. Every pound costs three kicks to the face. Here, you can pay in advance.”

The sous-chef commenced grinding Luffy’s face into the far window with his heel. They struggled with one another in the backseat, Sanji’s shouts intermixed with Luffy’s offended gasps and occasional laughter. Nami shared a helpless look with Robin and, sighing, pulled the car onto the road.

The quarreling continued until Nami shrieked out a slew of sailor’s curses that made even Sanji blush. The car fell into a deafening, awkward silence. Though, Luffy was still wearing a half-cocked grin, face flushed with exertion and amusement. He pissed Sanji off--the little fucker was too damn happy. He wondered if Luffy was like this all the time. If so, that would explain why Nami’s anxiety levels were through the roof.

The drive back to the Baratie was both too long and surprisingly short. Sanji couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. Nami rolled down her window and let him kiss her cheek.

“Thank you for driving, my beautiful flower,” he crooned.

“You had fun after all,” Nami stated, and there was no use in denying it. “You need to take more time off. You’re a great asset to the restaurant, but you don’t need to spend every moment there. Your friends will miss you.”

Looking into her sad, brown eyes he knew this was Nami’s way of saying, “I missed you.” He smiled tenderly. “I’ll try to make more time.” He waved goodbye to Robin. “I want to see you again soon, too. Please tell me when you’re available, and we’ll go out for coffee.”

“Alright. Just make sure that you give me a goodbye kiss next time too,” she teased. As soon as she said this, Sanji dashed madly around the front of the car to the passenger’s side. She covered her mouth as giggles threatened to overtake her and rolled down her window to receive her well-deserved smooch on the cheek.

“See you,” Sanji said, then headed toward the entrance of the Baratie. He had his hand on the door handle, almost home free, when Luffy called for him again.

“Hey Sanji,” he said, earning an exhausted glare. “I didn’t mean what I said about the meat. I mean, I did, I love meat and I hope you’ll cook some for me soon. But you’re a really cool guy--I can just tell. Nami talked you up so much, I dreamed up a person I thought couldn’t possibly exist. But you didn’t disappoint me.”

He laughed at Sanji’s expression, which was rapidly morphing from shock to humility. “I guess I’m trying to say, I’m glad I finally met you.”

Sanji stood frozen, heat creeping onto his face. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“How about, ‘see you next time’?” Luffy suggested happily.

“Yeah … yeah. See you next time,” Sanji said softly, and waved. Luffy returned the gesture. Sanji took that as his cue to duck inside the restaurant and calm his racing heartbeat. He immediately felt the eyes of patrons on him and straightened himself, striding across the dining floor towards the kitchen. He tried to clear his thoughts, thinking of the time, and how the dinner rush would encroach in a few hours, but none of it worked.

He didn’t think he’d said anything particularly impressive to Luffy. He’d barely said anything at all at that luncheon. All he’d done is shoot the shit with a bunch of suits he would be happy to never see again. But somehow he’d impressed this Luffy kid, and … apparently matched the Sanji he’d dreamed of. He knew he shouldn’t care what that dumbass thought, even if he was Nami’s friend, but he couldn’t tamp down the rush of happiness that coursed through his veins. When he was stuck all day every day in a kitchen full of macho men--himself included--who couldn’t be honest in how they felt about one another, even the kind words of a stranger were a breath of fresh air.

The sight of Zeff ascending the stairs to the second floor broke Sanji out of his trance. He chased after his father and clambered up the steps. The old man heard him coming and paused on the landing, looking over his shoulder expectantly.

“Oh, it’s just you. I thought there was a herd of elephants behind me,” Zeff quipped.

“Haha, very funny,” Sanji laughed hollowly. “Take me seriously for a second. We still haven’t talked about the car.”

“What is there to talk about? I’m sure Franky must have told you--the bug was getting too old. Is the new car giving you trouble already?”

“No, I mean, it’s fine, but …” Sanji paused, trying to organize his thoughts. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t talk to me about it first. All cars break down, I know that. Maybe we couldn’t have continued to use it, but you didn’t have to give it away. I mean, that’s the car we spent so many nights in while the Baratie was being built, and I just ...” He sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “I just wish you would have talked with me first. I can make tough decisions when I need to.”

Zeff cast him a piteous glance and patted him on the shoulder comfortingly. “I didn’t want to get rid of it either. And if I had come to you, you would’ve fought to keep it, and I would’ve given in. But it’s just a car. We have to remember that. We can’t just sit and polish it for the rest of our days, nor can we shut it up in a warehouse to rot. Giving it to Franky was the best option. Please understand.”

“Zeff, you know I trust you,” Sanji asserted, but he couldn’t keep the confliction from his face. “And you know I’ll respect your final authority, no matter what the decision is. But please, talk to me first. This restaurant, that car … everything belongs to the both of us.”

The old chef let out a gusty breath, removed his hand and, without promising a single thing disappeared inside his office. Regret and anger began a slow trickle inside Sanji’s chest, gradually filling up his entire body as he left Zeff alone and finished out the rest of the day. By the time night fell and he climbed into his warm bed, he was drowning in disappointment. He carried this crushing despair with him down to breakfast the next day, and through to the following morning as well. Before he knew it, an entire week had passed without one further word said to his father.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Ace’s eyes blinked open, he found the world tilted sideways, and his neck stiff. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up with his head glued to the table, in a puddle of his own drool. Pretty fuckin’ embarrassing, he thought as he sat up. But neither Garp nor Luffy were paying attention, both locked in a shouting match that had started before Ace conked out.

He couldn’t count how many days their family had passed this way. In the morning, their crazy grandfather would leave for Marine HQ, and Ace would spend the blissful daytime by himself in brief reprieve from that thundering voice. When they were younger, Luffy used to waste out the days with him, but that was back when they weren’t living under Garp’s fist. Now Luffy had friends, Ace had responsibilities, and Garp had plans for the both of them. With Ace currently between jobs, Garp was trying especially hard to cram the Marine philosophy down his throat.

Ace would rather die than become a soldier, but sometimes he felt he could do it, if only the shouting would stop.

He rubbed his temples, dizzy mind clearing, and tried to remember what they were all yelling about tonight.

“I’m not going to another one of those stupid parties!” Luffy all but screamed, pacing the room to get away from Garp, who followed with quick strides.

Oh, right. The bi-monthly party thrown by the Marines. Mainly for the purpose of having on-base Marines stay in touch with one another, and for politicians and the media to come and hammer them with questions. In other words, a place-holder for true progress in their great country.

“You liked last week’s luncheon, though!” the old man argued.

“That,” Luffy said, spinning on Garp suddenly, “Was because they had a clown there.”

“That wasn’t a clown, that was one of our Shichibukai,” Garp said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My point is, I didn’t want to go anyway! I don’t care about the Marines! All you guys do at those parties is stand around and talk about boring stuff.”

“Well you’d better start caring,” Garp roared, “because you’ll be a Marine yourself before long!”

Ace sighed, leaning his chin on his hand, and watched them. Even if Garp was just as convinced of his grandson’s future after all these years, Luffy was already twenty-three years old. He couldn’t be sent to military school. If he was kicked out, he had somewhere he could go. Besides, Luffy had dreams, and a bucket list that didn’t involve being married to his country. Garp couldn’t hold onto him forever.

“I’ll go to your stupid party, Gramps,” Ace announced groggily.

Both Garp and Luffy whipped around to look at him in surprise.

“You will?” Garp asked softly.

“Not like I’m doing anything,” Ace shrugged, then briefly met his grandfather’s strangely tender and somewhat concerned gaze. “When did you say it was, this Friday?”

“Ace,” Luffy protested, but Garp had already crossed the room to clap Ace on the back and shake him proudly.

“Yup, Friday, 7:30 on the dot.” Heavy hands paused briefly on Ace’s shoulders, and though Garp mouth was excitedly spouting one thing, his eyes said another. “Suit and tie, alright?” he asked, as if he really wanted permission.

“Tie,” Ace said firmly, “That’s the best you’ll get from me.”

Apparently that was good enough for Garp, who gave him another jolly smack and a peculiar smile that Ace seldom had the chance to see.

“I’m gonna get changed. You boys do the same. We’re going somewhere nice for dinner tonight, courtesy of my recent bonus.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Glad to see you still know how to spend your money, Gramps.”

For once, Garp didn’t feel the need to retort, and happily jogged off to his bedroom. Ace lowered his gaze, fingers drumming on the table. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Luffy, who slowly approached his side.

“You shouldn’t have told him you’d go,” Luffy insisted quietly. “I know you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright. If I didn’t go, what would I do, sit around at home and look through job ads? I’m tired of spending all my time alone, doing pointless shit.”

A few moments of heavy silence passed. “You know, Ace, I could always stay home with you more often.” 

Ace glanced over at his younger brother, who wore a pained expression. Huffing quietly, he stood and placed a hand on Luffy’s head.

“Hey,” he murmured, “It’s got nothing to do with you, alright?”

That was a lie--Luffy wasn’t around much anymore, so of course Ace was lonely. He had nobody else he wanted to spend time with. He had no friends, just acquaintances from high school and previous jobs who had already forgotten him. He never went to college, either. Even Garp, unbearable as he was, would make for suitable company, but when he wasn’t gone on assignments, he was only home in the evenings.

Ace loved Luffy a lot. But Luffy had a growing social life, and aspirations. Ace was going nowhere, and going there with no one.

“Besides,” Ace added, “We blow off the old man all the time. Did you see how happy he was?”

Luffy looked up into Ace’s eyes, hurt still etched onto his face. “He can’t make you become a Marine. Don’t let him think he can.”

Smiling gently, Ace ruffled his little brother’s hair. “Come on. Let’s go get changed.”

He headed for his room, leaving Luffy to watch his back.

 

~&~

 

An hour and a half later, they rolled up to the front of the Baratie. As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, a valet materialized and with the utmost grace offered to park Garp’s shitty, beat-up sedan for free. Ace opened his mouth to joke that you couldn’t pay him to park that car, but stopped when he caught a glance at Luffy. The young man stood with his back straight, stony face poking out the stiff collar of his red button-up. He’d even let Garp cinch a black tie around his neck. Well, he’d done the same to Ace, too, but on Luffy it looked like a noose.

Garp handed off his keys and they all walked inside. As Garp greeted the maitre d’, Ace took a sweeping look at the expansive dining venue. He couldn’t help mouthing a silent exclamation. The ceiling was practically dripping with gold trim and crystals, a few old-fashioned chandeliers hanging far above the floor. Ladies and their respective gentlemen giggled coquettishly over their meals, each course worth more than what Ace could earn in a month on his last job’s salary. It never failed to amaze him just how deep Garp’s pockets really were. He suddenly felt miniscule, out of place, and just a tad underdressed.

The host led them to their table and distributed menus, happy to serve even their coarse-looking family. They hardly got settled in before a tall blonde waiter appeared, dutifully carrying an ornate pen and black leather book for writing orders. Ace was admiring the man’s well-built frame and trimmed facial hair when Luffy practically jumped out of his seat with a shout.

“Sanji!” he said cheerily. “You work here?”

The waiter looked like he also had only just now comprehended who it was that was bouncing excitedly in front of him. “Of course. I’ve worked at the Baratie almost all my life. Didn’t Nami tell you that?”

“Oh, right. To be honest, when Gramps said he was taking us out to dinner, I didn’t pay attention to where we were going,” Luffy admitted sheepishly.

Sanji raised an eyebrow at the barrel-chested old man reclining casually in his chair. “I’m guessing you’re ‘Gramps.’ The esteemed Vice Admiral … Garp, yes?”

“I don’t know about ‘esteemed,’” Garp frowned, drawing a snicker from Ace. At least the man was honest.

“And I’m Ace, Luffy’s older brother,” Ace supplied with a cheeky grin. They bowed their heads in greeting.

“I’m gonna get to eat Sanji’s cooking,” Luffy said in a singsong voice.

“It’s not just me who’s making the food, you know,” Sanji argued, flipping open his book. “Can I start you off with some drinks? Maybe an appetizer? We’re famous for our clam and crab platter ...”

They ordered their drinks and accepted the waiter’s suggestion. After he left, Ace questioned, “Who was that? I’ve never seen him before.”

“One of Nami’s friends. I met him at the luncheon last week,” Luffy explained, but gave no more details than that.

After a while, Sanji returned with their drinks and appetizer, dutifully taking up his pen once more. “Know what you want?”

“Yup,” Luffy nodded. “I want the lobster-shrimp dinner, the cracked crab, the blackened tilapia meal …” He ran his finger down the list of dinners and rattled off special after special until the waiter just stopped and stared at him.

“Are you ordering for all of you?” he asked after Luffy finished.

“No way,” Ace piped up. “I have my own list.” Then he proceeded to order a staggering amount of food, just as much if not more than his brother.

“You sure you can pay for all this?” Sanji asked Garp.

“Ask me that after you’ve heard my order,” the old man declared confidently, and Sanji was visibly floored once more by the voracious hunger of his customer.

He shook his head in irritation and jotted down all the orders. “Alright,” he conceded, “I’ll bring the entrees out one at a time for each of you.”

“What?” Luffy whined.

“If I bring everything out at once and you don’t eat it, what do I do?” Sanji groused. “I’d rather die than waste food.”

Luffy considered this for a moment and nodded solemnly in response, commenting, “I feel the same.”

“Enjoy your appetizer,” Sanji said, then disappeared back into the kitchen. The three men descended ravenously upon the defenseless sea creatures on the large platter. They chewed away noisily for a while.

Ace eventually asked, “What’d you get your bonus for anyway, Gramps?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Garp answered, disinterested.

“Well, you dragged us out to celebrate, so it must matter.”

“If somebody hands me money, of course I’ll use it,” Garp snorted, “Even if I don’t deserve it.”

Luffy perked up. “Wait, is this another one of your cash bribes?”

“Bribes?” Ace asked.

The old man scoffed. “The higher-ups think that if they reward certain behaviors, I’ll turn them into habits.”

“Even after all this time?” Ace snickered.

“Well, I’ll eat on the government’s dime any day!” Luffy said gleefully, stuffing his face with what was left of the clams and crab. Ace felt some relief--at least his little brother seemed to have cheered up.

“ _When_ you become a Marine,” Garp addressed Ace with an instructive finger, “You won’t be like all the others. Protecting the people is important, but you can’t help anyone if you don’t protect yourself and your own values. When we go to the party, there’s somebody I want to introduce you to. He’s one of the few officers who can find the middle ground between the law and one’s own beliefs. I think he might be able to change your mind.”

 

His grandson shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever you say, Gramps.” He’d already agreed to go--he was at the mercy of whoever the geezer wanted him to meet.

Soon after, Sanji brought out the first round of entrees. Not five minutes passed before each meal, side orders and all, had been gobbled up. He quickly brought out the second round, and barely got away from the table before the men were asking for more. A third and fourth course vanished in the blink of an eye, and by that point, Sanji decided to cut his losses and bring out the rest of the food. One by one the platters were demolished, Luffy occasionally eyeing their waiter across the room. When he wasn’t staring at the blonde man, his gaze roamed to the pianist, who had abandoned his baby grande and taken up a violin.

Sanji returned to their table to find their plates practically licked clean. He whistled lowly, and Ace saw Luffy’s cheeks color with pride, as if he’d proved himself to someone special.

“Color me impressed,” the waiter breathed out. “Dare I ask if we’ll be having dessert tonight?”

“You brought the menus, didn’t you?” Luffy grinned, a faint glimmer in his eye.

Sanji’s eyelids slid closed and he muttered, “Fuck me.” Luffy and his brother shared matching grins as the blonde distributed the menus. “Should I leave and come back, or will you have one of each?”

Luffy raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think I can eat them all?”

A sliver of a challenging smirk graced Sanji’s face. “I don’t know,” he said, “ _Can_ you?”

The dark-haired boy wordlessly passed the menu back in response. By this point, even Ace’s heart was racing with excitement, and he returned his own menu, saying, “Aw man, count me in too!”

That left Sanji to look at Garp expectantly. The old man bellowed out a throaty laugh. “You think I’ll be outdone by these brats?”

The waiter collected the last menu, spitting out once more, “ _Fuck_ me. I’ll be right back with your order.”

Sanji turned to leave but Ace snagged him by the arm, inquiring, “Hey, do you know if the violinist guy takes requests?”

“Who, the performer?” Sanji looked over to the lanky man dancing a festive jig across the dining floor. “Hold on a second.”

He walked off, making a hasty return with the spindly musician at his side. “Fair beasts with bottomless stomachs, this is your entertainer tonight, Soul King Brook. Professional vocalist, pianist, and violinist for over sixty years.”

“Sixty?” Luffy gaped. “How old are you?!”

Brook tipped his hat in greeting. “Yohoho! If I told you I’ve already breached my ninth decade, would you believe me?”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Ace murmured appreciatively.

The waiter threw his arm around Brook’s shoulder. “Now look, Soul King, I need you to do me a huge favor,” he beseeched the veteran entertainer. “These gentlemen are on a mission to eat themselves to death, and they need a good dirge to put them in the ground. Think you can handle it?”

Brook smiled. “I think I can crank out some killer tunes.”

The blonde man clapped him twice in approval. Then he left, for real this time.

“Now,” Brook declared with bravado, “I’ll need a willing participant from the audience …”

Luffy’s hand shot up first, but Ace pushed him down and held his own hand up. Garp intercepted both of them, leaning across the table with his arm in the air. Brook’s grin was so wide it nearly split his face in half.

The old performer regaled his personal audience with song and dance--some way too crass for the restaurant they were in--and the three men clapped in time, hollering and drawing the irritated stares of fellow customers. But no matter how many scathing whispers surrounded them, Brook continued vivaciously sawing away with his bow. He never once completely stopped playing, though his singing faded in and out as the youngest member of the family asked him questions about their waiter. Ace didn’t notice at first, thanks to his own joyous celebration, but once he quieted down he heard snippets of their conversation. Luffy asked how Brook and Sanji met, and what kind of person the waiter was. The answer was masked by the shrill song of Brook’s violin, but from his gentle expression and Luffy’s satisfaction, it could be nothing but pleasing. Luffy asked about Brook, too, and where he came from. But somehow the name “Sanji” continued to resurface long after the topic had been well-worn and everyone at the table had settled down.

Almost forty-five minutes later, Brook had pulled up a chair and was telling a story about the arson of a swing bar he once played at. The sound of clattering metal drew everyone’s attention. When they saw what approached, Brook’s story became forever lost. Even the old man himself couldn’t help but stare in shock.

Sanji had returned, proudly wheeling over a huge four-tiered dessert tower, each level adorned with at least a dozen cakes, specialty pastries, crème brûlée, and even several items that were not on the menu. He deftly slid the entire thing onto the table without jostling a single plate. Everyone was completely slack-jawed, even the other surrounding patrons--but none more so than poor Luffy, who could barely get breath into his lungs.

“I changed up your order a bit. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.” The waiter informed Garp cheekily, “Don’t worry, I’ve amended your check in advance.”

Ace’s forehead dropped to the table with a loud “thunk.” He snored once before immediately waking up again with a gasp. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Sanji opened and closed his mouth in shock. “… Did you just …?”

Luffy sat stock still, gazing heavenward as if beholding the glorious tower of Babylon. A great challenge and an undeniably huge undertaking, this dessert tower reached the most lofty of Luffy’s culinary desires effortlessly.

“This is the greatest dinner I’ve ever had,” he marveled quietly, unable to turn his eyes away. “Thank you so much.”

“Um … well … no problem,” Sanji muttered, rubbing his neck. “You get what you pay for. And I mean, it’s not like I was the only one who worked on it …”

Ace was practically drooling. “Whatever we’re paying, its not enough.”

The waiter’s cheeks grew pink and he shifted his weight onto one foot. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Garp slammed his hands down on the table, making the silverware jump. “The position for our live-in cook is open,” he demanded. “Name your price.”

“I’m bringing you your bill,” Sanji asserted, rolling his eyes. “And you, Brook--thanks for your help, but you don’t have to entertain them anymore. Get back to work soon or the old man will chastise you, alright?”

Brook obeyed, shrugging regretfully to his fans before heading back to the stage. Luffy was sad, but not sad enough to keep from devouring one side of the dessert tower.

Ace followed his lead, saying with a stuffed mouth, “I like that waiter guy.”

“He’s got a fire in him,” Luffy replied, and Ace knew he was hooked.

It wasn’t long before the tower was picked clean, not a crumb left. Sanji brought their check and handed it to Garp--Ace couldn’t see the total amount, but he couldn’t imagine how expensive it must be. Well, Garp seemed calm, so it couldn’t be that bad. Before Sanji left their table for the final time, Luffy all but tackled him in a hug, making him swear to cook again for him sometime--personally. Then they bade their server goodbye. Ace left the building to go talk to the valet, while Garp and Luffy headed for the restroom. On the way there, Luffy shouted to the elderly performer that he should come home with them and play music all the time, making the old man shudder with laughter until his bow stuttered.

After they settled their business in the restroom, the two men stood together at the sink. Luffy washed his hands while Garp fixed his tie, booming with laughter.

“All that food, and we still couldn’t eat up my bonus completely,” he said triumphantly, “Though I’m almost certain your friend gave us a discount.

“Shishishi! Your paycheck’s useful for something, at least.” Luffy’s face fell as he contemplated where Garp’s money came from. The Marines immediately dredged up the painful recollection of their argument from earlier that day. “Are you really gonna make Ace go to that party?”

“Of course!”

“What if he falls asleep into the punch bowl, or something?” Luffy suggested. It wasn’t completely out of the question.

Garp laughed, “He can fall asleep in the Fleet Admiral’s lap, for all I care. I’m just glad one of my grandsons will be there, so I can show him off, talk shit about him …”

“This really means a lot to you,” Luffy said.

His grandfather leaned his hip against the sink, crossing his arms. “Let me put it to you this way. There are plenty of Marines who can boast about their high rank and accomplishments. However, very few of them can be proud of their offspring. You understand?”

Luffy silently looked down at the sink, thinking for a few moments. Then he lifted his head and said resolutely, “I’ll go with you guys.” He held up a hand to intercept Garp’s excited response. “But I have one condition.”

“Only one?” Garp asked, surprised.

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t think you’ll be able to do it. If you can, I’ll go wherever the hell you want, talk to whoever you want, and wear anything.”

If Garp’s the one carrying out the request, Luffy might just get what he wanted. He’d accomplished far crazier feats before. So even though Luffy hated the Marines, and hated asking his grandfather for favors, this time he’d make an exception.

Garp grinned wickedly from ear to ear. “Go ahead and mark your calendar, then.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey Sanji,” Carne said, “There’s some guy out on the dining floor who wants to talk to you. Gray-haired, really jacked, got this crazy scar. You know him?”

“Unfortunately,” Sanji sighed. Ever since Luffy and his party had come for dinner at the Baratie, the grandfather had been skulking around the restaurant off and on, talking to servers and chefs alike. Sanji himself had approached the man, but Garp said he didn’t need any assistance. Even so he continued to make regular rounds of the restaurant for three days, serving only to piss Sanji off.

“Where is he?” the sous-chef asked.

“Just outside the kitchen. You can’t miss him.”

Sanji thanked Carne and left the kitchen. Carne was right, Garp was just outside--so close that Sanji almost ran smack into his chest.

“Finally decided to tell me what you’re doing here?” the blonde said irritably.

Garp grinned. “I apologize for being a nuisance, but I was investigating this place on behalf of my own personal interest and that of my grandson’s.”

“Let me guess. Luffy?” Sanji asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Bullseye,” Garp said, exceedingly pleased. “You see, the Marines are having their bi-monthly party this Friday. A lot of important officers are showing up this time--people I need Luffy to meet. But he has a rather poor image of the Marines, so he’s been staunchly refusing. At least, until three days ago. After we ate here, he told me that he would go, if you would be his date for the night.”

“Date?” Sanji repeated. “That better not mean what I think it means.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure myself,” the old man laughed. “He used the word ‘date,’ but that might have been to scare me out of asking you to come. If I know my grandson, he just means for you to accompany him--no strings attached.”

“If he’s resorting to scare tactics, it sound like he really doesn’t want to go,” Sanji noted, growing suspicious. “And why _me_? Doesn’t he have any other guy friends he can pretend to be boyfriends with?”

“Sure, but most of his friendships are years-old. Luffy loves getting to know new people. And besides, his favorite thing to do at Marine parties is talk about how awful the food is. It is _legitimately_ awful,” Garp stopped to clarify. “Who else is going to do that with him except for an accomplished chef like yourself?”

Sanji narrowed his eyes. There were too many uncertain elements. Assuming that Luffy meant he wanted Sanji to simply accompany him, if Luffy didn’t want to go, there was no point in agreeing. And Sanji himself didn’t really want to go to another Marine event ever again, not after the luncheon. He’d had enough of Marine officers to last a lifetime.

So, he asked curiously, “What if I say no?”

Garp grinned widely, showing off every white tooth. “A little birdie told me that your stove is out of commission.”

One curly eyebrow twitched in irritation. Which birdie told him that? He’d fuckin’ kill them.

“Another anonymous person tipped me off that your blender isn’t working like it used to, and one of your fridges may need to be replaced. Oh, and your meat freezer’s temperature is hard to keep regulated, right? I could send somebody in to take a look at that, free of charge.”

How did he get all that information? Damn loose-lipped chefs. Though, the offer was extremely tempting--even if the replacements Garp offered weren’t top of the line, it would save the restaurant a whole lot of money.

“What’s the catch?” Sanji asked, suspicious.

“Nothing!” Garp chirped. “All I ask is that you sign this to prove you’ve committed to going.”

He pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it over. Aha, Sanji thought, I knew it. But when he unrolled the contract, to his surprise, he found this matter-of-fact agreement written there:

 

“I, Monkey D. Garp, will replace the Baratie’s stove, blender, and fridge. You may choose each of the replacements--whatever you choose, I will provide. I will also have a high-quality, state-certified inspector make sure your meat freezer is working properly. Just please go to the bi-monthly Marine party this Friday with my grandson, Monkey D. Luffy.”

 

Sanji stared in disbelief--first at the paper, then at the man in front of him who was grinning like an idiot. This was more like a personal letter than a contract.

Garp smiled, self-assured and smug, and produced a pen. “So? Will you go?”

The young chef had doubts about whether such a simple agreement could even be legally binding, but the contract had an official seal and was given to him by a Marine officer. That was about as official as a contract could get.

He wanted to refuse, but kept imagining the shiny new appliances the Baratie would get. Sanji didn’t often have the opportunity to do something for the restaurant on his own, but this time he could, and all he had to do was go to one stupid party with a friend of Nami’s.

He sighed and took the pen. “How could I say no?”

“I’m not doing this just for Luffy, you know,” Garp pointed out. “I’ve been considering making an investment in the Baratie. Nowhere have I had food that pleased me more than here. In fact, I was hoping that while you are at the party, you can taste the food and give me your opinion as a sous-chef.”

“If it’s anything like the food at your luncheon last week, it’ll be horrible.” Sanji handed over the signed contract. “Sir.”

Garp laughed heartily. “Would you be willing to provide a detailed written account?”

The blonde couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “I would be more than happy to.”

“Fantastic.” Garp rolled up the contract and put it back inside his jacket. “Then I will contact you after the party. Oh, and here’s the address--7:30, don’t be late.”

Sanji nodded absently, already thinking about how to approach Zeff for some time off on the evening of the party. “Is there anything further you need of me?”

“Ah, right,” Garp exclaimed softly as if remembering something important. “Is there any way you can box up a raspberry cheesecake for me?”

“Sure. How many pieces?”

The Vice Admiral shook his head and said, “I’ll just take a whole cake.”

Sanji deadpanned. “A whole cheesecake.”

“Yes.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to eat the whole thing by yourself.”

Garp smiled broadly. He received an intense stare in return.

“Alright,” the sous-chef sighed in resignation, “Just give us a few minutes.”

 

~&~

 

The party took place only a few buildings away in a convention center four stories high. Sanji remembered when it was being built because construction blocked up the road people usually took to get to the Baratie, and so the customers bitched about it non-stop. Though, for all the trouble its construction had caused, the interior was pristine and immaculate. A beautiful young lady at the front desk directed him to the elevator--the party was on the top floor. He blew a kiss in her direction as the elevator doors closed.

He hoped the party would be short. The previous day he asked Zeff for his time off--it was the first time in twelve days that he said more than a few short words to his father. The first six days were a result of anger, and the last six out of awkwardness and the fact that Zeff had stopped trying to engage him. Zeff accepted Sanji’s request with little ceremony, barely looking at him. Now there was a bitter taste in Sanji’s mouth that could only be cleansed by making an apology.

Thoughts of Zeff circled fervently in his mind until he stepped off the elevator and into the party room. He was taken back by the amount of attendees--there had to be over two-hundred people, ranging from trainees to at least one Admiral, the stern-faced Sakazuki, whom he recognized from television. The decor for this party was about as sparse as that of the previous luncheon, but the crystal lights in the ceiling slowly shifting between spectrums of color, lending some festivity to this formal affair. Suited men carried around ordeurves, and Sanji spied another dessert buffet. He couldn’t wait to rip those chefs apart in an official report to the Vice Admiral. That would show their fucking “questions and comments” form.

First, though, he had to find his … “date.” He quickly spotted Luffy chatting with his brother at the far end of the refreshments table, the elder sipping what looked like wine. Sanji hadn’t taken two steps towards them when Luffy noticed him.

“Hey, Sanji! You really came! Gramps said you would, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Dreams really do come true,” Sanji joked. He bowed his head to Ace in greeting, and pointed at the glass in his hand. “They serving alcohol here?”

“Thankfully,” Ace replied. He stepped away from the table, gesturing to the many different bottles of wine lined up along the end of the table. “It’s first-come first-serve, though they have a guy manning the table to make sure people don’t drink too much.”

Sanji searched for this alleged man, but saw no observant man keeping watch behind the table. Really now, this was just pathetic.

“Ah shit, hold on,” Ace cursed, jerking his chin towards Garp, who was walking over with someone at his side. “I gotta field this real quick.” He downed the rest of his drink and left the glass on the table before strolling to meet Garp halfway.

“Oh good, I see Sanji is here,” Garp said, politely waving at the chef.

“Yup. So don’t bother Luffy too much, okay Gramps? He may actually have fun for once,” Ace advised. He peered over Garp’s shoulder at the man he’d brought along--he was almost as tall as Garp, with equally-silver hair shaved close except for a mop on the top. He chewed a cigar impatiently, seeming just as reluctant as Ace to meet one of Garp’s constituents.

“Ace, this is Smoker,” Garp introduced, stepping out of his coworker’s way. “He just recently became a Vice Admiral. I’ve worked with him for several years--he’s one of the most upstanding individuals I’ve ever met.”

“You flatter me, sir,” Smoker said gruffly, smoke puffing out of his mouth.

“Smoker, this is my grandson, Ace. Go on, brat, introduce yourself.”

But Ace’s mind was long-gone, and he seemed to have left his jaw on the floor. He looked Smoker up and down--the man was built like a brick shithouse, but not only that, he’d completely forgone Marine dress code and abandoned the tie and suitjacket, opting instead for a jean jacket and sinfully-fitted white leather pants. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, too, giving Ace a teaser of the sinewy muscles hidden beneath.

“Ace,” Garp snapped. “Introduce yourself.”

But Ace, totally fascinated (for the wrong reasons) ignored him and asked Smoker, “Where’d you get that sick scar on your face?”

“In a fight with some pirates just off the coast,” Smoker answered simply.

“Wow, don’t you paint a vivid picture,” Ace answered sarcastically, though a bright smile remained fixed on his face.

“I’m not here to tell stories, I’m here to do my job. Come find me when you actually have questions about being a Marine.”

Smoker bowed shortly to Garp, then left with a clipped gait. Ace dashed back to the refreshments table and poured himself another glass of wine, saying to Luffy and Sanji, “Sorry, looks like I have to leave you now. I’m gonna try and get my hands on mister fifty shades of gray justice.”

He waved goodbye to them, then practically fell over himself chasing after Smoker.

“Guess that just leaves us,” Sanji sighed. “So … what the hell do you do at these parties.”

Luffy shrugged. “Well, alcohol’s the only good thing they got, so mostly I just drink.”

“I didn’t peg you as a drinker,” Sanji said.

“Any man can be driven to drink, given the right circumstances,” Luffy laughed. “Though, I did develop a fun drinking game thanks to these stupid parties. Want to play?”

Sanji pursed his lips. “Depends. What are the rules?”

Luffy pointed to a few small mingling groups scattered around the party. “The higher-ups huddle into groups and talk about hot topics for the government right now. We’ll walk around, greet them, and hang out for about five minutes. Then we count how many times they talk about something involving ‘justice’.”

“What idiot uses an abstract concept as the basis for a drinking game?” the blonde interjected.

Luffy grinned but otherwise ignored him. “Every five times is one drink. Otherwise we’d be completely shit-faced in twenty minutes. We take the drinks at the refreshment table before moving on to the next group.”

Sanji considered this, looking around at everyone. He didn’t mind drinking, but didn’t really want to get drunk. Five times for one drink … there’s no way they could get plastered with that system, right? But Luffy knew the Marines better than him.

“I don’t know, man …”

“If I need alcohol to make it through this party, you need it too,” Luffy asserted. “Besides, we’ll stop once we’ve met everyone and loosened up.”

“Alright, Sanji conceded. “Lead the way.”

He followed Luffy through the crowd over to the first group of people, consisting of a sturdy-looking elderly woman, an extremely tall man in a yellow striped suit, and the young gray-haired man Ace had chased after. Ace stood dutifully at the man’s side, asking questions, until he saw Luffy and Sanji.

“Hey there, Smokey!” Luffy called out. “Old lady Tsuru!”

“Luffy …” Smoker frowned.

Ace mouthed to Sanji, “drinking game?” The chef nodded in resignation. This really must be a regular occurrence, then, if Ace knows about it.

The old woman closed her eyes, face touched by a hint of a smile. “Luffy. Avoiding your grandfather?”

“You know it,” Luffy answered. “And this is my date, Sanji.”

“‘Date’ is a strong word …” Sanji felt the need to clarify.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tsuru said with a bow. Then she gestured to the tall man in their group. “Luffy, this is Admiral Borsalino. I don’t believe you’ve met before.”

“Nope.” The young man reached out to shake hands. “My name’s Luffy. I’ll die before I become a Marine.”

Borsalino shook his hand, cracking a grin. “Sure, sure. Garp’s said as much.”

“Sorry to cut pleasantries short,” Smoker interrupted, “however, Admiral, I’m still not satisfied with your explanation on your decision concerning the units on the coast.”

Luffy gave Sanji a look that said, ‘here we go.’ Even Ace mouthed ‘oh shit,’ maybe a little too conspicuously.

“Ho?” Borsalino hummed. “I thought I explained it pretty well. What’s wrong with letting a few AWOL soldiers disappear?”

“We have to make an example of them,” Smoker argued. “Without punishment, more and more soldiers will think they can just leave whenever they like. And what of the people who remain? We have to do right by them.”

Luffy tapped Sanji’s leg with one finger. The blonde looked over and Luffy held up a finger, whispering, “one point.” Wait, that counted? How the hell was Luffy keeping track? If he thought Sanji was going to get liquored up for no reason, he was in for a surprise.

“Smoker has a point, Borsalino,” Tsuru calmly added. “Ever since those five soldiers fled from their station, we’ve had three more make a successful escape, and seven more have tried.”

“Mm, but isn’t that the commander’s fault for not keeping better track of his men?” Borsalino shrugged casually, as if it wasn’t his problem. “I mean, if it makes you feel better, most AWOL marines can only return to the area and be captured. Otherwise, floating around in the sea, they’ll just end up shot by an enemy ship …”

The other officers kept a relatively cool expression, but Ace’s eyes had bugged out, and Sanji knew his expression mirrored the other man’s.

“How can a commander know the whereabouts of every single crew member at all times? With over a hundred to a ship--you can’t, out of any sense of fairness, ask that of a man,” Smoker objected angrily.

Sanji felt a tap on his leg again, beginning to understand Luffy’s system a little better. It made some sense, but geez, justice really was an abstract concept. And this kid was touching Sanji a little too freely, practically glued to his side.

“Not to mention, even if they _have_ fled, we shouldn’t just let them be killed,” Smoker continued. “That would go against our entire creed as marines.”

Already, Luffy tapped the blonde’s leg again. Sanji whispered, “Doesn’t count.”

“Are you kidding me?” Luffy replied.

Borsalino splayed his arms, assuming a slightly mocking tone. “You say that, but what alternatives do we have? Waste resources on punishing runaways? You know how many marines flee these days.”

“But then what of the people and the land we are trying to protect?” Smoker maintained. “Don’t they deserve marines who will steadfastly protect them? We can’t let this become a trend. It isn’t _right_.”

Sanji rolled his eyes, fully expecting the tap on his leg this time. He wasn’t very happy about it, though.

Smoker caught sight of him and snapped, “You have something to say?”

“Not at all,” Sanji said, dipping his head in respect. In fact, he rather admired the man for duking it out with an Admiral so fiercely.

“Then let me ask you, Vice Admiral, what _is_ right in this situation?” Borsalino asked seriously the smile falling from his face. “Please tell me, if you have it figured out. Consider the commander, and the people who have to deal with all the paper-shuffling necessary to merely _report_ runaways …”

Ah, fuck, Sanji realized. This would not be pretty. And in the grand scheme of the drinking game, it wouldn’t end well for his poor liver, either. Luckily, Luffy chose this time to gently lead him away by the sleeve.

“That’s five,” Luffy declared. “Let’s go get a drink and move on.”

“Glad we got out of there when we did,” Sanji admitted.

“I let you off easy. I don’t want to have to drink that much at once either. But the next one,” Luffy insisted as he handed Sanji a drink, “you have to stick it out.”

They moved on to the next group. This time there were only three people. They introduced themselves as Vice Admiral Hina, Admiral Kuzan, and Lieutenant Tashigi. Well, at least the two ladies were lovely beyond compare--that thought comforted Sanji as he steeled himself for another political debate. It didn’t take long for the discussion to ramp up, heading off with a question from Kuzan.

“So, Hina, I heard about that prisoner you escorted back to HQ last week …” he drawled.

She pouted, muttering, “Hina doesn’t want to hear anymore about that.”

The lieutenant looked between them. “What? Why? Was there a problem?”

“The great Aokiji thinks there is a problem,” Hina spat. “Hina found no reason to complain.”

“It’s not that I had a problem …” Kuzan disagreed with a lazy tone, “I just thought you might want to think about some things …”

“Which prisoner was this again?” Tashigi asked.

“The boat thief, Malu,” Hina answered. “Made off with three ships in the past month before we could catch him.”

“Well, I would hardly call them ‘ships’ …” Kuzan explained, “just the personal fishing vessels that belonged to the mayor of this city …”

Hina’s pout deepened into a full scowl. “Hina has no idea why she was asked to deal with him. Was a waste of time.”

“Malu?” Tashigi seemed surprised. “As I recall, he was delivered with no problem …”

“Well, not exactly …” Kuzan trailed off.

“Yes, exactly! I don’t care who says it, my men did not mistreat him!” Hina shouted.

“Oh, my … I wasn’t saying that,” Kuzan disputed apologetically, “It’s just, somehow Malu arrived at HQ with multiple wounds he didn’t have when boarding Captain Hina’s ship.”

“Why was he even being sent to HQ?” Tashigi asked, confused. “Did he have a history of violence, or …?”

Hina shook her head. “Not a thing.”

“Well, he did steal some very nice boats …” Kuzan suggested, earning a pointed stare from the Vice Admiral.

“As Hina recalls, they were ‘just personal fishing vessels?’”

Kuzan brushed off this barbed comment. “Well, whatever the case, he arrived at HQ injured, and died within a few days. I’d like to get to the bottom of that at some point.”

The crowd around them split and, out of nowhere, Admiral Sakazuki lumbered over, looking even more terrifying than he seemed on TV. He growled lowly, “I believe that matter has already been resolved, Admiral.”

Kuzan coolly turned his head. “Oh. It has?”

Sanji felt something shift beside him and turned to see Luffy pale-faced, clutching the side of his head with one hand, mouthing “Oh my God” over and over.

“I can’t,” he hissed. “I’m out.”

He tried to leave, but Sanji pulled him back with a wicked smile, roping a hand around his back.

“What happened to sticking it out?” the blonde asked.

Cheeks tinged with red, Luffy let Sanji anchor him in place, but stared on in fear all the while.

“A report has already been released,” Sakazuki said. “The state of the prisoner was a result of self-harm. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Kuzan nodded. “Yes, I do believe I received something like that, but unfortunately it didn’t answer some questions I had …”

“Oh?” Sakazuki’s coal-black eyes flashed. “Enlighten me.”

“Well, for one, there was a clear breach of human rights that wasn’t addressed. With a prisoner harming themselves during captivity, why on earth did we transfer them to a separate cell at HQ without treating them?”

“We were not aware of the origin of those injuries until after the prisoner had died,” Sakazuki divulged.

“Then who should we blame for that injustice?” Kuzan demanded.

“ _Injustice_?”

“Yes. Even if Hina’s men just slipped up on the job, that is definitely an _injustice_ , Admiral. A man needed help, and because he didn’t get it, he died.”

“And to what end would breaking our backs over him serve? The man was a criminal.”

“For a small offense! Stealing does not merit death. And furthermore, if we can’t keep our prisoners alive long enough to carry out their sentence, how are we doing right by the people who were victimized by those criminals?”

“We stand by the Government, that is our duty. If you have a complaint, fill out a form, and wait in line. What right do you have to say whatever you like, especially in front of a lieutenant?”

“You want to talk about _rights_ \--”

Finally, Luffy couldn’t take anymore. He yanked Sanji back to the refreshments table, downed a drink and handed Sanji a cup. After that drink, Luffy knocked back another one.

“Hey, that was only another five, not ten,” Sanji pointed out. “Or maybe seven? Was it even five?”

“Oh, give me a break. I would drink myself to death if I stayed there and listened. Consider that last drink as punishment for chickening out.” Luffy took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then walked off again. “Alright, let’s see who’s next … but new rule. We are _never_ sticking it out in a group where Sakazuki’s talking.”

Instead of quitting after “loosening up,” they carried on the rest of the party with their drinking game. Sanji found that the more he heard from the blessed defenders of their countries, the more he wanted to hear. They never had anything very pleasing to say, but the discrepancies between everyone’s personal sense of righteousness were endlessly fascinating, albeit in a morbid way. The whole time Luffy tapped Sanji’s leg to count off everyone’s opinions, keeping Sanji somewhat grounded as he grew more and more tipsy. By the time Luffy and Sanji settled the last of their accumulated points with a final drink, they weren’t _quite_ shit-faced, but drunk enough for Sanji to hear stories about how Garp or whoever else killed a man for their country and not care about it.

“Where to next?” Luffy groaned.

“Nowhere,” Sanji said. “We are going … nowhere.” He stumbled and caught himself on Luffy’s shoulder. “I can’t take any more of this. Let’s just … just go … sit down, or something.”

Thankfully, the party was winding down and everybody busied themselves with saying goodbye, so nobody noticed the two young men fumbling around. They tottered over to a pair of chairs against the wall. Luffy tried to plop down in one but missed and fell on the floor. Sanji helped him up and they both slumped drunkenly into their chairs.

They sat silently for a few moments, until Sanji gradually began giggling. He tried to stifle it with his hands.

“What?” Luffy asked.

The blonde’s giggles increased in intensity until he was laughing uncontrollably, leaning back in his seat and holding his stomach.

“What?” Luffy demanded, shaking Sanji’s shoulder. “What’s so funny?”

“I,” Sanji started, “Let you get me _so_ drunk.”

“You did,” Luffy frowned, seeming to wonder why a simple statement of fact was so funny.

“I am so drunk, I’m going to have to call my dad to pick me up. And what am I gonna tell him? That it’s not my fault?” Sanji paused for a moment, glazed eyes clearing slightly. “It isn’t my fault! It’s yours!”

“It’s not my fault,” Luffy whined.

“No, you’re right, you’re right. It’s … everyone else’s fault! All these _fucking_ people!” Sanji looked at his companion incredulously. “Do you … do you even know how fucked up this is? I’m gonna go home and Zeff will be like, ‘How’d the party go, brat’ and I’ll say, ‘Oh I don’t know, I listened to fuckin’ old dudes talk for three hours about AWOL soldiers and killing people and how it’s the right thing to do and … and …”

The blonde covered his face with both hand and leaned forward, falling into silence.

“Yeah. I can’t stand it sometimes,” Luffy agreed in a thick voice. “Everyone here tonight could just …” He made wild, all-encompassing gestures even though Sanji wasn’t looking. “They could go on every day and …! And make all those decisions, and think they were right, you know? Who the hell even knows what “justice” means? I mean …”

Luffy threw his hands into the air. “Gramps spent thirty minutes arguing with Sakazuki about whether the company they got their coffee maker from had justifiable marketing practices, and slave labor, and all this shit--”

Sanji tiredly rubbed his eyes. “Don’t remind me …”

“But then … Sakazuki, and Smokey, and old lady Tsuru and everyone can just get up tomorrow, and forget tonight ever happened, and kill people and think they’re right.” He shot Sanji a helpless look. “When I choose a side dish at a restaurant, I don’t even know which one is right. Even after I’ve eaten it.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Sanji felt the need to point out.

“Well … yeah,” Luffy pouted. “I guess I mean … Who cares about the right thing, or the wrong thing, but … these guys get to feel entitled about it. Like it really is that simple.”

 

Sanji’s foggy, blue eye scanned the faces of the officers who were still hanging around. “… Yeah. I get it.”

Luffy sighed, “And now I’m drunk off my ass, and … Gramps is probably gonna kill me. I dunno. He’s killed me a couple times already.”

“You were the one who thought it was a good idea to drink,” Sanji laughed. He chose not to address the fact that he’d encouraged the drinking as well.

With his head resting on the back of the chair, Luffy turned to look at Sanji’s face, seemingly analyzing every detail. Then, without any prompting, he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to the corner of Sanji’s mouth. Too surprised to pull away, Sanji let Luffy use his shoulder as a pillow while he tripped over his own thoughts.

“What was that?” Sanji squeaked. This kid was drunk, right? He didn’t do that on purpose, surely. There was no way.

“Thanks for … coming. Getting drunk,” Luffy responded, not providing any of the answers Sanji wanted. “I know it wasn’t fun, but at least I didn’t feel like I was alone in a crowded room.”

The chef didn’t remember much after that--just stumbling out to the car Garp’s family came in and Luffy snoring on his shoulder in the backseat. They gave him a ride home and the far more sober Ace helped Sanji out of the car and to the front door of the Baratie. Sanji nearly headbutted the door before he realized it was past closing time. He unlocked the door, thanked Ace, and stumbled inside.

Unexpectedly, Zeff was inside, reclining at one of the tables with an open book. He looked up and greeted his son cordially, as if he’d been waiting for his return.

“You’re drunk as hell,” Zeff noted helpfully.

“You’re not drunk enough, you old shit-stain,” Sanji bit back, pulling a chair over so he could sit next to Zeff. “I was too drunk to drive, so the car’s still over there.”

“I’ll go get it now. If it’s parked overnight, we’ll get a ticket. What’s the address?”

“It’s that convention center a few streets away. The one the customers got pissy about during construction,” Sanji supplied.

“Alright. You go drink something that isn’t alcohol and go to bed,” Zeff instructed. “You’re working tomorrow, whether you’re hungover or not, so try to be presentable.”

“You gonna walk there?” Sanji asked. “Be careful.”

Zeff wordlessly headed for the door. He had just barely reached the handle when Sanji called out to his back, “Hey Zeff. I’m … sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Zeff said without turning around.

“Getting drunk. Not talking to you. Freaking out about the car,” Sanji counted them all off on his fingers. “A lot of things, I guess. I probably make you feel like I don’t love you. But I do. Even though you’re old and gross.”

There was a brief period of five seconds where all sound and visuals cut out of Sanji’s brain. When he came to again, his face was pressed into Zeff’s chest and the old man was hugging him.

“It’s alright,” Zeff assured him. “An ungrateful child isn’t so bad. Just do me a favor and don’t remember this in the morning--if you’re too comfortable, I’ll never get you to behave.” 

The old chef pulled away, leaving Sanji’s cheeks cold. “I’m leaving now. Seriously, get to bed now. And don’t worry about me.”

Sanji nodded, pulling himself to his feet long enough to see Zeff out the front door. Then he dragged himself upstairs to sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

A few days later, Carne beckoned him out of the kitchen once more.

“That weird old guy is here to see you again.”

Oh, right. Sanji had completely forgotten about their deal. He kind of blocked the party from his mind. He still felt bad for making Zeff go retrieve the car--on foot, no less--but more than that he wanted to forget the disturbing conversations he witnessed and … well … that other thing too, of course.

The chef walked out and greeted Garp. The old man looked happier than ever, which was difficult, considering Sanji had never seen him look anything _but_ happy. Reminded him of Luffy.

“Thank you for accompanying my grandson this past Friday,” Garp said, bowing his head. “For the first time, Luffy admitted to me that he had fun at a Marine event. I am in your debt.”

“Ah …” Sanji started, trying not to let the confliction show on his face as he remembered Luffy’s kiss. “I’m glad.”

“So, you have a report for me?” Garp asked.

“Of course,” Sanji replied, hastening upstairs to retrieve it. He brought it downstairs and handed it over. “Also, I’d like you to meet our proprietor. He’s given his approval for the report, and is interested in talking about your plans to invest in our restaurant. He’ll tell you which replacements you should order for us.”

Sanji cupped his mouth and shouted to the other end of the dining floor where Zeff was wiping off a table. “Hey! Shitty geezer! What are you doing halfway across the building? The Vice Admiral is here!”

Zeff strode over to them, cuffing the back of Sanji’s head once he arrived. “Vice Admiral Garp, I presume? I am Zeff, owner and head-chef of the Baratie.” He bowed lowly, though not without a hint of disdain. The old man hated bowing to anyone. “Please forgive my son’s rudeness.”

Garp raised his eyebrows at the word “son” as he bowed in return. “Reminds me of my grandsons.”

“Do you have time to visit my office and talk?” Zeff requested, and Sanji had to stifle a laugh at his stiff, formal tone.

“As much time as you need. Oh, though, before I forget--”

Garp turned to Sanji once more. “Luffy wanted me to ask you something. Next Saturday, he and two friends are going on a road trip to the sea spirits festival on Fishman Island. Have you heard of it?”

“Who hasn’t heard of it?” Sanji gaped. “Chefs come from all over the country to compete in the festival’s competition. They cater the event themselves.”

“Ah, what I would give to be able to go and eat delicious food …” Garp agreed, “but I have to work.”

“Does … Luffy want me to go with them?” Sanji asked hesitantly.

Garp nodded. “His friend Zoro is driving, and their friend Chopper is going too, just to make sure they don’t get lost and stranded somewhere. It’ll be a one-day trip, but you’d probably get back pretty late.”

Sanji vaguely remembered Nami talking about Zoro, but in Chopper’s case, he already had a pretty good mental picture. A straight-A medical student, really loved sweets. Nami talked about him all the time. He didn’t feel great about travelling with strangers, but never heard anything bad about Chopper or Zoro, and anyway, Luffy is Nami’s childhood friend. She’s a good judge of character, so Sanji can probably trust them.

Well, that’s what he told himself. But even so, at the most inopportune time of the day, the memory of that drunken kiss would flash through his mind again. He shouldn’t be surprised, people have done crazier things under the influence. Of course, it’s not out of the question that Luffy’s gay, but he’s never pushed himself on Sanji before. Granted, they’ve only talked three times since they met, but still. And it’s not like they’d be going on the trip alone.

He inwardly berated himself for his endlessly-twisting thoughts. In reality, this trip could be the perfect excuse to ask about what happened at the party. Sanji intended to be Luffy’s friend, if for no one else’s sake but Nami’s, and if he ran away now Luffy might develop some misunderstandings. If the kiss was a drunken mistake, they could forget about it and move on. If Luffy was serious, they needed to establish some boundaries right away. Either way, the issue had to be addressed if they were to keep moving forward as friends. And, well, it wouldn’t hurt to visit a festival, meet some fellow chefs, and eat good food along the way.

“I don’t know,” Sanji hedged, trying to buy himself some time. “Let me talk with Zeff later about getting time off and I’ll get back to you.”

Cue Zeff, who completely misread the situation, and with a roll of his eyes commanded, “Just go. You haven’t taken any time off in years, except for those two Marine functions.”

“That’s to be expected!” Sanji said defensively. “Considering my position, and my responsibility.”

“Stop worrying so much about your title, little eggplant,” Zeff huffed, flicking his son’s forehead. “We’ll be alright until you get back.”

Despite eliciting Sanji’s rage at being treated like a child in front of a Vice Admiral, Zeff’s words were comforting. Even if Zeff says the Baratie will be fine, if he expects Sanji back, that must mean they still need him. Maybe he’d been overreacting a little lately. And as much as he hated the thought of confronting Luffy, he really, _really_ wanted to go to that festival.

He groaned inwardly, submitting himself to his fate.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m in.”

 

~&~

 

When Sanji agreed to go to the festival, he anticipated getting there sometime within the year. But as he sat in the Baratie, watching the clock on his phone and waiting for Luffy’s friends to pick him up, he realized it might be next year’s festival before they got on the road. They were already forty minutes late. Sanji had given Garp his number to pass on to Luffy, so he received periodic updates about the crew’s progress via text. He watched in irritation as messages rapidly popped up on his screen.

Luffy [2:15 P.M.] _Zoro just turned onto the wrong street again_

Luffy [2:15 P.M.] _Chopper told him to turn left but he turned right_

Luffy [2:15 P.M.] _I think that’s called dyslexia_

Luffy [2:16 P.M.] _Now he’s stuck behind a mail truck. Haha what a loser_

Sanji sighed, rubbing his face. The running commentary was a fine distraction from boredom, but really, he’d rather they hurry up. He peeked back at the screen, having received a few more texts.

Luffy [2:16 P.M.] _Okay we’re turned back around now_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _Almost to the restaurant_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _Were on your street now but I think Chopper’s gonna kill Zoro before we get there_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _Oh fuck, he’s hitting him_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _Chopper’s beating him in the face_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _It’s kind of funny though_

Luffy [2:17 P.M.] _I think we’re gonna die. We’re gonna veer off the road and die_

Luffy [2:18 P.M.] _If the cops ask it wasn’t my fault, though I’ll be dead anyway so what does it matter_

Luffy [2:18 P.M.] _Alright we’re outside. Please tell me you can drive_

Sanji stood and left the restaurant, looking for their car. The back window of a silver, beat-up Saturn five feet away rolled down, revealing Luffy. He waved the chef over.

As Sanji approached the vehicle, a very short, caramel-brown young man burst out of the passenger’s side and into the street, letting out a cry to the heavens. He ran to the driver’s side door and yanked open the door, grabbing the arm of the driver.

“Get out of this car!” he squealed. “This was a mistake from the very beginning!”

Sanji looked to Luffy for an explanation. He received a shrug in response.

“Sorry we’re late. They didn’t pick up me on time, either,” Luffy said. “Even though Chopper says they left his house an hour early.”

“ _An hour_!” the young man yelled defiantly. “Because I knew this would happen! I wish I could just drive myself, but neither Luffy nor I have a license.”

“It’s not my fault,” the driver protested. “The street signs keep changing on me.”

“Get out of the car and let Sanji drive,” the young man demanded, then turned to give their guest a doe-eyed, uncertain look. “I mean … uh … if that’s alright with you. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot …”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sanji smiled. “How about you let me take over as the GPS for a while? Then if he really is a shitty driver, we can kick him out of the car and leave him. Preferably somewhere far away from civilization.”

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” he was warned.

“You’re Chopper, right?” Sanji asked. The young man nodded. Sanji leaned down to peer at their driver. “So that would make you Zoro.”

“That’s me,” the man replied gruffly. His short, dyed-green hair smelled of a fresh round of pigment. Three gold earrings hung from one ear, complementing his stern, thuggish face. He already pissed Sanji off.

“If you can follow directions, we’ll have no problem,” Sanji said, “But if you get lost and make us forty more minutes late, I’ll kick you in the throat.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Zoro challenged.

“Well you won’t get to see that, because you aren’t going to get lost. Right?” Sanji slammed the car door shut, grinning from ear to ear. He reassured Chopper as he headed for the passenger’s side, “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”

 

~&~

 

Sanji was wrong. He had been very, very wrong, though to his credit, he quickly realized this. When they all finally stumbled out of the car near the festival grounds, it was five o’clock. The trip down was only supposed to take an hour and a half, at the most.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, shitty marimo,” Sanji said to their driver as he climbed out onto solid ground, “If being directionally challenged were a skill, you’d be the best at it.”

“We would have gotten here faster if you gave better directions,” Zoro countered. “Your GPS changed its course all the time.”

“I’m sure that’s how it _appeared_ to you,” Sanji sneered.

“There’s no time to be fighting,” Chopper interjected, “what’s done is done--we need to hurry if we want to see everything.”

The two men followed Chopper through the festival gates, arguing defensively all the while. Luffy brought up the rear, finding endless amusement in their fighting and Chopper’s misery.

Everyone quickly settled down once they took in the sights. The sea spirits festival was exactly what it sounded like--a time for worshipping creatures of the water. Traditionally held in the spring right after the flowers first bloomed, it was a very serious event, requiring formal dress and the presence of at least five priests. Each citizen would worship something different--fishermen prayed for big hauls and a good market; some families prayed for loved ones who perished at sea; and some just praised the gods or the earth. As an offering, the well-esteemed chefs from the surrounding areas would come and serve seafood from fish blessed by the priests. Over time, the food became the festival’s premiere attraction, drawing famous chefs from different islands. Some even came from other countries to participate. Because of this, nowadays the once-formal festival had been turned into a more casual event, drawing laypeople who wanted the once-in-a-lifetime chance to taste a famous chef’s food. Some visitors still dressed up and worshipped, but they were very few in comparison.

If the casual visitors were ingrates oblivious to the worshipful nature of the festival, then Luffy and his party were no exception. They came there to do one thing only: to eat until their stomachs split open. The streets were lined with stalls sponsored by restaurants, mom and pop shops, and even high school students who simply pitched in for fun. Luffy immediately declared they should have an eating contest, and the rest of them, like fools, heartily obliged. They dashed from stall to stall, scarfing down everything from simple takoyaki to four-star ordeurves to convenient store-grade sushi. From one stall, Zoro and Luffy ordered a whole roasted squid each as a personal challenge to see who could eat one faster. Zoro almost wretched trying to beat Luffy, but in the end he lost. Chopper and Sanji watched on in equal parts horror and hysterical laughter, the colored jellyfish lanterns hanging on street lamps above highlighting the shadowed valleys in their faces.

Zoro forged on bravely for about half an hour more before he that squid got to him. He hunched over, hands on his knees and groaned.

“I knew that was too much,” Chopper chastised. The green-haired man heaved, making Chopper panic. “Don’t throw up, Zoro! Not here!”

“I think there’s a bathroom over there,” Sanji said, pointing down the street.

“I’ll take him there for now. I have a few stomach acid tablets on me, so I’ll have him take those. You guys go on without us--we’ll catch up to you,” Chopper advised, then led the ailing man away.

“While they’re gone, let’s go check out the featured booths,” Luffy suggested. “I think there’s a contest going on.”

“Alright,” Sanji agreed, but for some reason he felt they should wait. The reason rested just outside the edge of his consciousness, forgotten and forlorn in the wake of the chaos of the day.

They got hold of a map and charted a course to the featured booths. They were not disappointed--end to end, on all sides of them, and stretching on for what seemed like miles were the booths where all the famous chefs seared, filleted, seasoned, and served hundreds of small dishes right before the eyes of their waiting customers. And they did this for free, too, just to pass time until the judges made their selection. Sanji felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he was pretty sure from the way Luffy was panting hungrily they’d have to cart the poor boy off on a stretcher when the day was over.

Only one section of the chain of chefs was broken. Four security guards stood between two booths, arms crossed. A line stretched behind them, and occasionally they let a few people pass to join it.

“What’s that line for?” Sanji wondered aloud.

“Oh, that’s probably their special guest this year,” Luffy answered. “Gramps told me about it. Have you ever heard of Terracotta, the head chef of the Alabasta palace?”

Sanji gawked at him. “You’re shitting me. _Terracotta_ is here?”

“Yeah. Only a select group of people are allowed to purchase a ticket to see her, and from what Garp tells me, the cost includes at least four zeroes.”

“Damn,” Sanji griped, “Even if I was allowed to buy one, I couldn’t. How am I gonna face Zeff tomorrow and tell him I missed the chance to see a royal chef in person?”

Luffy blinked. “What are you talking about? You can totally meet her.” He pulled a bent-up ticket out of his pocket and handed it over. “See?”

The blonde snatched it out of his hands. “How the hell did you get your hands on this?”

“Old lady Tsuru gave it to Gramps as a present for some battle he helped her win. She said he could give it away to either me or Ace if he wanted, since we love food too.” Luffy grinned widely at Sanji’s excitement. “You can have it if you want.”

“You’re not serious,” Sanji breathed.

“I don’t really know anything about Terracotta so you’d get better use out of it,” Luffy said with a shrug. “Go on. I’ll wait here for you.”

Even if Luffy had no interest in meeting a royal chef, giving away such an expensive ticket was just foolish. But he looked so aloof that Sanji convinced himself it was fine, and allowed his selfishness to take control.

“Wow, thank you. I can’t even express how much I …” Sanji swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll bring you back something, at least! I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Luffy laughed, seeing the blonde off with a wave.

Sanji presented his ticket to the guards and was allowed to enter the line. A gauntlet of at least fifteen more security guards surrounded the line on all sides, no doubt cataloguing every twitch anyone made. As the line slowly pressed on, growing gradually slower, Sanji stared at his ticket, willing himself to remember. You don’t just give this kind of gift to a friend you’ve only recently met. Not unless you’re rich, overtly generous, or have some kind of ulterior motive. Luffy wasn’t rich, and though he was nice, Sanji doubted he was this much of a samaritan. The chef had the feeling that he’d stupidly forgotten something crucial, and he was just on the verge of rediscovering it.

Then a lovely alto voice called out, “Next.” He looked up and saw Terracotta, her stocky frame illuminated by the sun’s gentle caress. She smiled down at him like an ages-old goddess and beckoned him forward, chuckling at his shocked expression. “Yes, you.”

Overcome with emotion he threw himself down on one knee and stretched his arms out.

“Oh, venerable Terracotta-san!” he sang, “Tales of your skill are as vast as the desert you hail from. Even a lowly apprentice like me has heard of your magnificent feasts! But not even in my wildest dreams could I imagine the joy that courses through my veins now upon seeing you in person. Under the responsibility for a husband and the Royal Family, your beauty has remained pure and your firm guiding hand like a stone wall.”

He pressed a palm to his heart, unaware of the attention his theatrics were drawing. “I am not deserving of even your simplest of stews, perfectly-simmered in Alabastan spices,” he continued to wax eloquently, “but if only I could have the honor of but a taste of your cactus fruit pie, I could die happy.”

“Oh my,” the venerable woman gasped. She covered her mouth with a hand, giggling loudly. “How earnest! I don’t think I’ve received admiration quite like this before. At least, not from someone so … ardent.”

She tenderly cut a slice of pie for him. As it ascended from the tin, its thick green, orange, and white filling peeked out. “Here. An extra big piece for you.” She handed him the plate and a fork, which he accepted with trembling hands. “Don’t ever lose your passion.”

He thanked her endlessly as he backed away, bowing over and over. He took so long that the security guards had to push him along. Reverence continued to spew from his mouth until he was back to the festival streets, where he saw Luffy waiting impatiently on a bench.

Luffy perked up at his return. “So? How’d it go?”

“Better than I ever could have imagined. You should have seen her, she … I …” Sanji’s face fell and he smiled apologetically. “I wish you could have met her.”

“It’s fine. High class chefs are cool and all, but she’s just another lady to me,” Luffy assured. Regardless, he still pointed to the pie in Sanji’s hand and asked, “You going to share that?”

“Of course. Here, have some first.”

Luffy took a bite and damn near melted into a puddle, shuddering with glee. “Aw, man, I wish I’d gone up there and met her. I should’ve. This is so good.”

They traded off bites a couple of times, both sent to their respective culinary heavens by the taste. Sanji offered Luffy the last of it.

“You have it,” Luffy insisted.

“Are you sure?” Sanji asked, suspicious. It’s not like Luffy to turn down food. “I mean, I’ve already had plenty enough …”

“Consider it part of the gift. When’s the next chance you’ll get to eat such a special treat?”

The blonde blinked in surprise and a warm chuckle bubbled out of his chest of its own accord. “So unexpected, hearing that from a glutton like you,” he pointed out, completely humbled and more than a bit guilty. “You’re too interesting,” he sighed and put away the last bite.

A strange glint entered Luffy’s eyes. He watched Sanji patiently, cocking his head. He waited until the blonde was almost finished chewing and then stepped in close. For the second time, he took Sanji’s mouth in a surprise attack, slanting his own lips over the chef’s. He steadied the other man’s jaw with a hand. Sanji opened his mouth to inhale sharply, accidentally allowing Luffy’s tongue to plunge inside. It made a long, unhurried swipe across Sanji’s teeth and palate before Luffy pulled away.

He brushed soggy pie remnants from his tongue, not noticing Sanji’s slack-jawed expression. “Gross,” he remarked.

Sanji regained some of his self-awareness--enough for his whole face to wash beet red with shame.

“Of … of course it’s gross …!” he bristled. “Just all of a sudden, while I’m eating …!”

But Luffy didn’t seem to catch onto the depth of Sanji’s embarrassment. He quickly got distracted by a group of men who paraded by wearing a snake costume.

“Oh! Hold on, I have to go catch that snake!” Luffy shouted. “I promised Gramps I would take a photo of the dragon eel mascot if I saw him. Wait for me here.” He pressed a few coins into Sanji’s free hand and pointed to the vending machine near their bench, adding, “Get us something to drink, would you? Melon soda for me.”

Then he was gone, chasing the serpent fervently.

Sanji felt like his brain had fallen out. He stood rooted in place for a few minutes, until his body switched to autopilot and he did as Luffy had asked. He sat down on the bench and roughly pulled out his cigarettes. He smoked one down to the stub in a minute and immediately lit another with trembling hands.

There’s nothing attractive about Luffy. Sanji feels there’s nothing attractive about men in general, but especially in Luffy’s case, the only semi-spectacular feature of his appearance is the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. The man’s warm lips on his own evoked no physiological response beyond panic and a fluttering stomach. There was nothing attractive about Luffy to him. And yet, no matter how much he told himself that, he couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted by what just happened. In fact, it felt like a rather natural progression--what had he been expecting, after the first drunk kiss he’d received? Even so he had foolishly agreed to go on a day trip with Luffy, and now he knew the man’s intentions without even asking.

They should have talked about this. Because they didn’t, now Sanji had led him on, and there was nothing he could do to fix that. Well, he’d just have to bite the bullet and explain the misunderstanding. It’d be awkward, but the situation would only worsen if they didn’t clear the air right away.

He had almost girded himself to have that conversation when Luffy returned, face flushed with happiness. The man held up his phone as he ran over, pointing to the picture.

“I got a picture with them! I look pretty stupid, right?” Luffy grinned. Sanji looked between his friend and the phone, unable to look at either one and hold his thoughts together.

What _will_ happen if he tells Luffy that he’s not interested, or into guys at all, even after complacently accepting two kisses from him? If he destroys the smile on Luffy’s face now, will the smile in the picture still hold? And what of his memories of the day--would Sanji destroy those too?

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He just laughed nervously and passed back Luffy’s phone. He wanted so badly to talk this over, but he refused to be the cause of Luffy’s suffering. Not after such a wonderful day. And after having his own confidence shaken by the second kiss, he found himself afraid of how his principles had wavered. He needed to figure out why he wasn’t repulsed.

“Hey, Sanji,” Luffy said and the chef broke out of his trance to find Luffy sitting next to him. “Zoro and Chopper called--they got lost, even with the map. They said not to worry, we’ll just try and meet up at the entrance gate around ten o’clock. You want to go see the rest of the featured booths in the meantime?”

Sanji nodded absently, not knowing what else to do. They rose and walked down the line of booths, taking samples and chitchatting with the chefs. Good food always cheered Sanji up, and this time was without exception. But ultimately he couldn’t chase away the worries from his mind. He avoided any physical contact with Luffy, giving the most minimal response he could manage. He felt Luffy must have noticed, but he couldn’t help it.

They reached the end of one line of featured booths which looked out over the river. The sun gingerly climbed down further towards the horizon, casting bright highlights and shadows as a reminder that every day’s excitement gives way to a dark, peaceful night. Luffy carefully took Sanji’s hand, pointing to the sun-kissed water. Though Sanji’s hand hung limp and his heart filled with dread, he nodded and let Luffy tug him away from the street. They climbed down to the riverbank and walked along the water’s edge, watching the festival’s lanterns writhe and glow against the darkening sky.

“I don’t know if I made it clear or not,” Luffy piped up, “But I’m your boyfriend now.”

“As if I could misunderstand your intentions …” Sanji sighed shakily, captured hand twitching.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

The blonde had to bite his tongue to keep the truth from springing out. “I don’t know. It just feels … strange.” He gazed at the festival, the river, anything to keep from looking Luffy in the eye. “I’m holding the hand of someone I know nothing about.”

“That’s not true,” Luffy objected. “You know I like meat, and that I’m friends with Nami and Robin.”

Sanji frowned. “That’s not the same.”

“Well, what do you think dates are for?” Luffy laughed, far too relaxed in comparison to his companion. “If you want to know more, ask me something.”

The chef fell into silent thought. Well, Luffy was right--if Sanji wanted to learn anything about him, maybe now was the time. He could gauge the man’s seriousness, maybe find a good angle to broach the topic of establishing boundaries between them …

“Hey, don’t go quiet on me,” Luffy complained. “You’re trying too hard, just ask something simple.”

Not a moment of peace, Sanji thought to himself with a sigh.

“Okay. Um …” He chewed his lip. “How old are you?”

Luffy scoffed, “Geez, when I said ‘simple,’ I didn’t mean _that_ simple.”

“Just answer the damn question,” Sanji grumbled.

“Twenty-three. You?”

“Twenty-five,” Sanji divulged. Even though he was only two years older, he felt ancient in comparison. Mainly because ever since the beginning of his second decade, Patty and Carne mercilessly teased him about how ancient he was. They joked that if he didn’t find a girlfriend soon, he’d die a lonely spinster.

“Alright, now ask me better questions,” Luffy urged, oblivious to Sanji’s deep-seated desire to make an imprint of his heel in the man’s face.

“Job? School?” the blonde asked, a hint of a cruel sneer creeping onto his face. “You just scream high school dropout.”

“That easy to tell, huh?” Luffy responded calmly. “Well, I did have a gymnastics scholarship at one point, but that’s not really the image Gramps wanted for his grandson. I didn’t want to go to school either, so no big deal.”

That got Sanji’s attention. “Gymnastics?”

“Yup.” Luffy moved his free arm backwards over his shoulder in a full three-sixty rotation, smoother than spider’s silk. “Double-jointed. Helped a lot. I went to a few competitions, but in the end it was just a hobby for me. I actually graduated high school, though. Just barely. After that I went straight to work. Mostly odd jobs, like ditch-digging and manual labor. Nothing interesting.”

Sanji tried to imagine a world where somebody would let a smart-ass kid like Luffy throw on a gymnast’s suit and compete in a respectable competition. No way he was well-behaved.

“Did you have that mark back when you used to compete?” Sanji asked, tracing the spot below his own eye with a finger.

“Yeah. I’ve had it as long as I can remember,” Luffy murmured, absently stroking his scar. “My coach always tried to mask it with makeup, but it never worked.”

“How’d you get it?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” The man scrunched up his nose in consternation until his brown eyes were no more than slits. This must be Luffy’s thinking face, Sanji surmised. Despite how obviously ineffective it was at aiding comprehensive thought, it looked impressive nonetheless. “At the time, I was … maybe seven or eight? I was already living with Gramps by that time, but I couldn’t stand to be around him. So I would go visit his friend’s bar and just hang out. There was a guy named Shanks who came around every once in a while and drank with his friends for a few weeks in a row.”

Luffy rubbed his chin, pondering his past with a far-off gaze. “I’m not exactly sure what his profession was. He definitely wasn’t yakuza, but whatever business he conducted, it was illegitimate. His friends were real scary-looking. I didn’t know much about him, but he was funny and kind, and so I wanted to stay with him. But no matter how much I begged him to take me when he left, he never did.” Luffy chuckled and grinned proudly at his companion. “So this one time, to prove that I could walk the same path as him, I took a knife and stabbed myself in the face.”

Sanji dug his heels in the dirt, halting all movement, and jerked Luffy’s arm. He shook it in violent reprimand, as if throwing a fit could change the past.

“Are you fucking _crazy_?” he shrieked. Luffy merely laughed, taking great amusement from Sanji’s apparent mission to dislocate his arm.

“Probably,” Luffy admitted. “He’d told me that only men who handled pain well could join his group. I thought I’d proven my determination, but he just got mad at me.”

The young man looked down at the sandy, dirt dunes beneath his feet. His smile evened out into a barely-present curl, both sweeter and bitterer than any Sanji had seen on his face before.

“Pretty soon after that, he and his men moved on to a different city and didn’t come back. They didn’t even say goodbye, or leave anything behind for me. At first, I was offended. But then I got to thinking a lot, looking at my scar in the mirror. I realized that I’d missed the point of ‘pain,’ and what kind he was talking about.”

“You think he meant ... emotional pain, maybe?” Sanji guessed hesitantly.

“Something like that, yeah. I feel like he was trying to tell me that pain is not something you’re meant to shoulder through. It felt awful being separated from Shanks after having been so thoroughly rejected, but that was because I was a dumb kid who couldn’t do anything for himself.” Luffy shrugged in defeat, as if resigning to the mistakes of his past self. “I didn’t know how to turn those feelings into something useful. Shanks was easy to get along with, and I cared about him, so I was fine with allying myself to his dream. But I think … he expected better of me. The best sailors set out to discover new seas, after all.”

That saying struck Sanji at his core. There was only one other person he’d heard use that phrase, and the memory bade his heart to flare with determination.

“That’s all speculation,” Sanji disputed, chest filled with heat. “What right does he have to tell you what you should dream about, anyway?”

The precious words Zeff left him when they snuck up to the Baratie’s construction site--he’d never forget them, or sacrifice that moment for anything. He doubted Luffy would ever forsake Shanks either. But there were some advices Sanji couldn’t accept, and no colloquial phrase about sailors discovering the sea anew could make him sit back and complacently watch the chasm between himself and his important people grow wider.

“I guess he doesn’t,” Luffy remarked, “But he really was right in the end. After he left, I realized I was relying too much on him for direction. I learned a lot, but I let a precious friend slip through my fingers.”

“You have to hold tight to the people you care about,” Sanji asserted fiercely. He couldn’t imagine living without Zeff, and the prospect of Zeff letting him go was equally terrifying. If Luffy felt half as close to Shanks, Sanji didn’t want to think about how he’d suffered.

“And what about you?” Luffy asked. “Nami said you and your dad share the Baratie. Do you plan to work there your whole life?”

“There’s nothing more that I want,” Sanji maintained.

The younger man’s face grew soft with relief. Even the rough scar beneath his eye seemed to smooth out and blend in with his plush cheek.

“Works for me. As long as you make sure to give me a discount,” Luffy added, making sure that Sanji wouldn’t forget.

“Alright, alright. I owe you for giving me your ticket anyway,” Sanji finally agreed. He couldn’t help but mirror the other man’s smile. “For now, let’s head back and visit the booths we missed. We’ve been out here for a while.”

They both looked back to find the festival lights in the distance--not quite thirty meters off, but still a long ways away. The path they had been absently treading on this whole time was shrouded in darkness, and they hadn’t noticed.

“Whoa, you’re right. Let’s do that, then go meet the others.”

They headed back for the festival grounds, hands still glued together. With each step Sanji’s thoughts grew further away from the all-too-critical talk they needed to have. As much as he wanted to blurt out “we’re just friends,” he wasn’t a dumbass--Luffy had shared something really personal. Something Sanji could relate to almost painfully well.

Later, he promised himself, by the end of the week for sure they’d clear the air. They had each other’s numbers, they could easily set up a meeting. In the meantime … well, playing Luffy’s date so far hadn’t been too hard. Getting drunk, stuffing their faces, and hand-holding--Sanji could deal with that. If only Luffy would leave his lips alone. Sanji was firmly convinced his mouth was destined solely to compose soliloquies on the righteous nature of women.

The end of the week, Sanji inwardly reiterated. Maybe Friday or Saturday. He would calmly inform the other man that their feelings didn’t match up, and they’d settle the matter like adults. And then it would all disappear--the awkwardness, the anxious breath caught in Sanji’s throat, the intimate laughter, and the soft, warm press of Luffy’s fingers.

 


	6. Chapter 6

The end of the week flew past with not even one mention to Luffy about the need for “the talk.” If asked, Sanji might argue that he simply forgot to text the other man. While this was true, Luffy had dropped by the Baratie uninvited _three times_ after their trip to the festival. Just when Sanji got the courage to speak to Luffy alone, the other man would smile innocently, or make some fucking _stupid_ remark about the meaty nature of meat, and all willpower would flee back into the cowardly crevice of Sanji’s heart from whence it came.

When Luffy wasn’t present, the cook freely allowed the kitchen workload to crash over him like a tsunami--helping the younger chefs catch up, cleaning the work stations, and taking responsibility for serving a few tables in order to loosen the burden on the waiters. He wasn’t running away, he told himself as he politely served a strawberry-blonde with flirtatious eyes. Though, he did feel a bit guilty for leading Luffy on for so long.

This half-assed avoidance persisted for an agonizingly-long week and a half after the festival until Wednesday, when work finally managed to drown out all of Sanji’s other personal struggles.

Really, he owed it all to the new trainee they just hired a few days ago. Though the damn brat supposedly graduated culinary school at the top of his class, he still slipped and fumbled over carrying out the slightest instruction. It’s okay, Sanji thought at first, everyone stumbles a little at their first job, valedictorian or not. But when Sanji asked him to help make a loaf of bread from scratch, somehow the prolific new recruit managed to spill flour all over Sanji’s starched button-up and waistcoat and down the front of his pants.

The sous-chef opened his mouth to give the trainee his first customary tongue-lashing when Patty walked into the kitchen.

“Yo, Sanji.”

The blonde whipped around, fists clenched. “ _What_?”

“Zeff wants to see you.” Patty gestured with his beefy thumb to the door. “He’s up in the office.”

“Can’t it wait?” Sanji began to gripe, but then he paused and took in Patty’s appearance. He looked paler than normal, one corner of his mouth drooping down sadly.

“No.”

Okay, something was wrong. The blonde made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl, brushing some of the flour off his clothes onto the kitchen counter.

“Make sure this dipshit doesn’t waste any more ingredients,” he commanded, getting one last insult on the new chef for good measure. Then he left the kitchen.

As he trudged up the steps to the upper floor of the Baratie, he tried to keep calm. In all the years Sanji knew Patty, the other man showed every spectrum of emotion--he was honest almost to a fault. If he didn’t like a customer, even though he masked himself in perfect politeness, he couldn’t help calling them a foul name. But one emotion he almost never showed was sadness. Not even when he broke up with a girlfriend of three years did his proud head bow in sorrow.

The Baratie couldn’t be having financial trouble again, right? They paid off all their loans long ago and were now a self-sustaining business, but of course they still had bills to pay. Zeff only chose to meet in the office when something strictly business-related happened, which heightened Sanji’s suspicions. He reached the office door and knocked twice.

“Come in,” Zeff responded immediately.

The blonde stepped in, quickly closing the door behind him. In three long strides he was at the desk, demanding, “What’s going on?”

“No need to shout,” Zeff grimaced.

Sanji consciously dialed back his tone. “Is something wrong? I saw Patty, and he--”

“The Baratie isn’t going anywhere,” Zeff intercepted before Sanji began rambling on. “Haven’t I told you to stop worrying about that?”

“Then … what else could you want to talk about? If it’s not about the Baratie, I mean.”

“It is, in a way.” Zeff gestured for Sanji to sit down in the chair across from his desk. For once in his life, Sanji obeyed without question, though he didn’t understand why he needed to sit down to have this conversation. “There are going to be some big changes around here in the coming months.”

Unease flared in Sanji’s chest. “Finance-wise?”

Zeff shook his head. “The only financial change is in how much we’ll be paying you.”

The blonde paused, searching his father’s eyes. “I’ve worked here for free before, that’s no big deal.”

“Sanji,” Zeff said sternly, “I need you to listen to me for a minute, without talking.” The old man idly thumbed through some papers on his desk--looked like application forms. “The Baratie can’t continue to run on your effort and mine alone. We need more people who have authority in the kitchen, and to ask patrons for donations.”

“Then, tell me what you want me to do, who to look for, and I’ll do it,” Sanji offered, instinctively reaching for one of the applications, already thinking about good days for interviews. “You know it’s no trouble.”

Zeff slid the forms out of Sanji’s grasp, earning an offended glare, which he returned with full force. “I’m not asking you to do more. I’m telling you to step down.”

“Step … down?” Sanji asked, blinking in confusion.

“You’re not going to be helping me manage the restaurant anymore,” Zeff stated. “You’re not going to help manage the kitchen, either.”

The blonde stared at him in disbelief. He should be angry, but everything felt too surreal.

“… Are you fucking _firing_ me?” he asked in a frighteningly calm voice.

“Of course not,” Zeff said gruffly, eliciting even more confusion. “You’ll still be a chef, but you won’t have authority anymore--whether to make decisions about the restaurant’s future, or what goes on with the other chefs.”

Now the anger was catching up to Sanji. He threw his hands in the air, snapping, “What the fuck? Where did this come from?”

He took a deep breath and tried reasoning why he was being demoted. His eyes darted back and forth, revisiting his work ethic for the past few months. All the while words tumbled out of his mouth: “Wasn’t I doing a good job? I’ve only been the sous chef for two weeks, give me time to prove myself!”

“That is not--”

“Is this about last month, when I kicked that cook in the face and he just up and quit? That wasn’t my fault! And I mean, there was that shipment of spices that got lost while it was on its way, but I paid for half that out of my pocket--you _said_ it was alright!” Sanji accused.

“Calm down,” Zeff assured. “Those incidents have nothing to do with this.”

“How can you tell me to _calm down_? The Baratie is _my_ restaurant too!” The blonde brought both hands to his chest, insisting, “It’s _our_ restaurant!”

He expected Zeff to retort “It’s my restaurant” like he always did, but this time the old man just stared, firm and serenely calm. If he didn’t say something, Sanji couldn’t argue with him.

“Don’t I have any say in this?” Sanji aske, lungs growing tight.

Zeff didn’t bat an eye. “What is there for you to say?”

The blonde rose slowly from his seat. It took all his effort to keep composed. All the emotions warring inside--the hurt, betrayal, confusion, and rage--converged in his one visible eye as he pierced Zeff with a glare.

“I won’t do it,” Sanji declared. “I refuse to give up all the work I’ve done for the Baratie and hand my position over to someone else.”

Zeff’s measured stare persisted, no doubt assessing Sanji’s resolve. Then he closed his eyes and calmly said, “… Alright. Then get your bags, and get out.”

The world returned to surreality. Sanji looked at his father blankly, as if observing an abstract portrait. He opened his trembling jaw, voice barely leaving his throat.

“… What?”

When Zeff opened his eyes, the abstract was torn like a veil, and reality fully sunk in.

“You heard me,” the man reiterated. “Pack your things, and leave.”

He pulled the car key from his pocket and tossed it onto the desk with a clatter. “I’ll give you the Volkswagen. Take it, and go drive wherever you like.”

Sanji looked at the key, then back to Zeff. He couldn’t feel his chest or his legs. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“Stop. Just--” Sanji covered his face with one hand, staring blindly at the key on the desk. “Is this why you bought that damn car? You wanted to get rid of me?”

“You have the key--” Zeff started. Sanji slammed his hands down on the desk, making the

accursed key, the applications, and everything else on the surface jump.

That fucking car. This is where everything began. He should’ve known this would happen sooner or later. He should’ve known the very first time Zeff claimed the restaurant was his alone. Now the old car was gone, the joyful days of childhood were gone, and Sanji had the sickening realization that Zeff didn’t need him anymore.

He braced himself on his hands, heaving and dripping with sweat. Every time he tried to calm his wild heartbeat, he recalled the night they spent on the half-constructed Baratie, not knowing this moment would come a mere seventeen years in the future.

“You took me home for the first time in that old car, and you just fucking gave it away,” Sanji seethed. “You can’t just give me away!”

He fisted both hands in Zeff’s collar and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Aren’t I your son?!”

The old chef’s stoic mask finally cracked and fell away completely. Immediately in its wake, the other mask fell too, exposing the raw inside that Sanji and Zeff both tried so hard to hide and protect. Sanji’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what he’d done.

Zeff pointed to the door and commanded quietly, “Get out of my office.”

The blonde released Zeff’s collar, snatched the key and fled the office. He stormed down the stairs and out of the restaurant without telling anyone goodbye. He threw himself into the Volkswagen and drove off, having no idea where to go. The city passed him by, unfamiliar streets winding around him like a fisherman’s net, until eventually he pulled into a convenience store parking lot. He leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and watched his tears drip onto the leather, the harsh white streetlights condemning him from above.


	7. Chapter 7

After he calmed down enough to drive without a film of tears obstructing his vision, Sanji began trying to figure out where he’d sleep. He had money for a hotel, but that wasn’t a feasible long-term option. And though he was sure Patty and Carne would take him in if he asked, he’d only be a burden. So with nowhere to go, Sanji called Nami, and she agreed to take him in for a while. How long “a while” was hadn’t been established yet. He almost wished she’d charged him rent--he couldn’t stand the pity in her voice as she comforted him over the phone. His shame grew tenfold when he arrived at her house, broken and drenched in his own tears, and realized he was still covered in flour. What a fool he must have seemed to Zeff, looking like a baby who spilled porridge down his front.

Nami and Sanji quickly became accustomed to rooming together. He fit snugly into her routine, rising early to make her breakfast before work and sliding dinner onto the table just as she returned. All the time in between was spent obsessively cleaning and being splayed out on the couch, trying to drown out his thoughts with whatever garbage was on television. As a child, he’d dreamed of having a lovely housewife--never did he expect he’d become one. But, he supposed, sorrow did worse to better people. At least catering to someone kept him busy enough to forget the look on Zeff’s face when he left.

On the fourth day after Sanji dragged himself to Nami’s apartment, Sanji was watching the muted TV groggily when he heard a weird sound come from the front door. He sat up and looked to the doorway, seeing the doorknob jiggle. Was that Nami? Maybe she forgot something.

He stood up, stretched until his back popped, and then answered the door. But instead of the daisy-fresh redhead he’d been rooming with, he found another familiar face waiting outside the door.

“Good afternoon, Luffy,” Sanji greeted, surprised.

“Sanji?” Luffy replied, looking equally surprised. “I thought nobody was home. Is Nami in there too?”

“No, just me.” Sanji narrowed his eyes. “If you knew she was gone, why did you come here? You trying to pull something?”

“I left behind a DVD the last time we hung out,” Luffy explained, holding up a silver key that looked exactly like the one Nami gave Sanji when he got settled in. “I forget stuff at her place all the time, so she had a spare made for me.”

“I see. Well, I was mostly joking, anyway. Come on in,” Sanji invited, stepping aside.

The younger man jogged inside the living room and began to look for his DVD. He picked up the throw pillows and, not finding what he desired, carelessly tossed them to the floor. Then he rifled through the cabinets, pulling papers, books and CDs out and leaving them in a pile on the ground.

“Hey, shithead,” Sanji growled, jabbing Luffy’s side with a foot. “Don’t make a mess! Who do you think has to clean up after you when you’re done?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Luffy waved him away, not paying attention. “Hm … maybe I left it in her room somewhere …?”

Sanji looked towards the TV and spied a DVD sitting on top of Nami’s blu-ray player. He picked it up, noting that it was a foreign film. One of those avantgarde ones too, by the looks of the cover. He had a hard time believing this belonged to Luffy, but the dumbass had written his name on the spine. If it was really Nami’s, he would be dead now.

“Hey genius, it’s right here,” Sanji said, thumping Luffy’s head with the corner of the case. “Didn’t know you were into foreign films.”

“Ace and I watch them together sometimes. They’re really weird. Even the ones that aren’t artsy,” Luffy grinned, taking the DVD. “We should watch some together. Hey, if you’ve got time, why don’t we watch this one right now?”

The smile fell from his face suddenly and he gave a soft exclamation, remembering something important.

“Ah, actually, wait, what are _you_ doing here?” he asked.

Oh, fuck. Sanji chided himself for not thinking up an excuse while Luffy rooted through Nami’s cabinets.

“I’m … crashing here for a little while. Maybe a few months,” Sanji began, trying to buy some time. Should he be honest? Getting kicked out was humiliating, mainly because Sanji felt if he hadn’t so insolently refused to give up his position, they wouldn’t have fought. He didn’t want Luffy to know the ugly, vulnerable Sanji who lost sleep over the slightest anxious fear.

“Actually, I moved out,” Sanji lied smoothly. “Me and the old man had one too many fights. We had different ideas for the restaurant’s future and just had to agree to disagree. So I’m staying here until I can find an apartment.”

“Your old man,” Luffy mumbled questioningly. “Oh yeah, that’s right, I forgot. Gramps told me your dad owned the restaurant.”

“Garp did?” Sanji responded. He must have told Luffy himself at some point, but thinking back on it, he couldn’t remember for sure. God, he hadn’t even told Luffy that? Come to think of it, Luffy never shared details about his parents either, just that he lived with his grandfather. There were so many things they didn’t know about each other, yet they’d already been on two dates and Luffy was his boyfriend now. Fuck, he forgot to talk to Luffy about that, too. Why the hell did he keep forgetting that?

“That’s gotta suck, huh? Having your dad be your boss. That’s exactly why I’d hate to be a Marine--I’d probably get transferred right into Gramps’ regiment.” Luffy sighed sympathetically. “You still get to keep your job though, right?”

“Yes. He gave me some time off to move my stuff, but I go back tomorrow,” Sanji automatically replied. Though he lost his job, he didn’t intend to give up on the Baratie. He hoped that if he gave Zeff some time to cool off, they could meet, apologize, and Sanji could beg for his job back. He couldn’t bear being a stranger to the Baratie’s future.

“That’s good,” Luffy nodded in satisfaction. “At least he respected your decision. You sad about it?”

The blonde smiled ruefully, holding back a wave of emotion.

“You’ll be alright. I believe in you,” Luffy said, actually managing to give Sanji some comfort. “For now, let’s pop in this film and forget about it for a while.”

“Alright,” Sanji conceded. He plopped down onto the couch while Luffy turned on the blu-ray player.

“Seriously though, Sanji, don’t stress yourself too much. I’ll visit you at work sometime this week and check up on you,” Luffy promised.

The chef blanched. “Visit me? When?”

“I don’t know,” Luffy shrugged, sitting down next to him. “Depends on who I’m working for this week. But you’re at the restaurant all day, so I’m sure I can find you.”

Great. As early as tomorrow, Luffy could be hollering down at the Baratie. Sanji _really_ didn’t want to have to explain why he lied. Guess I’ll have to call Zeff tonight, he thought to himself.

During the moment Sanji’s brain got lost in space, Luffy sidled up close and leaned back against him. Before the blonde could protest, Luffy clicked through the menu screen and started the movie. He wasn’t close enough to make Sanji uncomfortable, but still, this probably wasn’t a good idea. They really needed to have that talk, Sanji reminded himself for the hundredth time.

The movie was pretty short, and after it ended Luffy popped in another one. Two movies became three and finally halfway through the fourth, Nami came home. Sanji scrambled to make dinner for everyone, and finally after that, Luffy went home. The blonde waited until Nami disappeared into her room for the night, then dialed his father’s number. On the fourth ring Zeff finally picked up. Neither of them said a word, their breaths echoing over the phone.

“You got something to say or not?” Zeff grunted. If Sanji didn’t know any better, he’d think his father didn’t give a shit.

The blonde took a deep breath. “I … I hate this. The fact that you went behind my back about the car, and that you’re replacing me like a fucking light bulb. I’ll never be okay with any of it. But …” he sighed shakily as his throat threatened to close up. “You didn’t deserve … what I said to you. I’m sorry. And I’ll understand if the answer is ‘no,’ but … please give me my job back. I’ll go along with whatever you say, though I can’t promise I’ll be happy about it. These past four days have been hell and I just want to work with you again.”

He waited with bated breath, head downturned and dripping warm tears. This was the moment of the truth where he would learn if he still had a place to belong.

“What are you talking about? ‘Give you your job back?’” Zeff said quietly, making Sanji’s stomach do somersaults. “You never lost it.”

Time seemed to stop in its tracks. Sanji’s jaw fell open. “What?”

“I didn’t say you were fired, you just stopped coming to work. I penned it down as vacation time.”

All words and reason abandoned the young man’s mind. He couldn’t believe this was the same Zeff he’d run away from, wrinkled face stricken by betrayal. The voice in Sanji’s ear was too calm, forgiving everything when Sanji didn’t deserve to be forgiven at all.

“Did you hear me, brat?” Zeff repeated. “I said you’re still welcome here.”

Sanji covered his face, pressing hard until his tears skimmed along the ridges of his fingers and spilled over.

“So are you coming in tomorrow morning, or what?” the old man asked with a small hitch in his breath.

Unable to speak, Sanji made a noise of affirmation, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, little eggplant.”

“I’m sorry, Zeff,” Sanji choked out. “I really am.”

“I love you too,” Zeff chuckled painfully. “Now get to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

~&~

 

Seeing Zeff the next day, being back on the job--neither patched the aching hole in Sanji’s heart. He still mourned his harsh words and Zeff’s poor decisions, but they were able to work together side by side like nothing had changed, and that alone chased away the loneliness haunting his heart. Zeff didn’t invite his son to move back in, and Sanji didn’t bring up the subject. They needed some space to breathe and think. When Zeff wanted to talk about it, he’d do so without hesitation. Sanji’s sole consolation was that, while Zeff searched for a suitable sous-chef, Patty and Carne were filling in. He could trust them to do a good job.

While they took time to mend their wounded feelings, Sanji enjoyed a much less stressful stay at Nami’s apartment. Luffy fulfilled his promise to visit Sanji at work, and finally got the chance to meet Zeff. They got along rather well. Then Luffy began frequently dropping by both the Baratie and Nami’s apartment, bugging Sanji at every opportunity. Bits and pieces of Luffy’s life came forth with every conversation, and even though Sanji still didn’t know the basic facts about him like favorite color, where he went to school, and what he planned to do with his life, he was getting to know him better.

He learned that Luffy lived his entire life under the creed his scar represented. Honest and independent, the man would send an unending wall of texts to Sanji one day, and the next not say a word. He insisted on sitting close to Sanji whenever possible, even if it meant sitting on top of him, but not once had he pressed any contact further than a simple touch. He lived freely and without boundaries--Sanji hoped wherever that Shanks guy was, he could be proud of that.

A few months slipped through Sanji’s fingers as he indulged himself in the peace of being surrounded by his friends. Not only Nami and Luffy, but Chopper and Zoro made appearances too, the latter man bitching about the new houseguest the entire time of course. Sanji felt like his world was expanding bit by bit, the shadow of grief and confliction slowly lifting from his vision.

Tonight found Sanji in his usual position at the stove, stirring a thick stew. Not the most glamorous meal, but Luffy had almost begged for it, and the blonde became weaker to his requests as time went on. Nami sat at the table, totaling up her monthly bills.

Luffy retrieved a spoon from a drawer and brazenly reached into the pot around Sanji, trying to scoop out some stew.

Frowning, Sanji blocked him with an elbow. “Geez, can’t you wait ten minutes? You’re going to burn your mouth, dumbass.”

 

“Life’s too short, eat dessert first,” Luffy responded, struggling futilely to circumvent Sanji’s defenses.

“That saying doesn’t apply here.”

“Sure it does,” Luffy argued. “Means I don’t have time to grow old waiting for this sweet stew.”

“Well if you keep getting in my way, I’m gonna kill you, and then you won’t get to grow old at all.” Sanji sighed and grabbed Luffy’s arm, forcibly removing him from the pot. “Why don’t you go make yourself useful and stare at the dining room table or something? Anything that will get you out of here. I promise that as soon as it’s ready to be tasted, I’ll call you back in.”

“Really?” Luffy perked up, eyes glowing.

“Yup. Give you some right out of the ladle.”

“You’re too good to me,” the younger man laughed gleefully. He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Sanji’s mouth and vacated the kitchen. Sanji distantly heard the TV turn on.

This was their third kiss already, and though he’d been surprised, Sanji couldn’t bring himself to be shocked or offended anymore. Thoughts of “the talk” occasionally popped up in his mind, but he no longer felt the motivation to carry it out. He was afraid to talk about their relationship--afraid that Luffy’s feelings might start to make sense.

He stirred quietly, losing himself in deep thought, all the while oblivious to Nami’s stare. She stood and crossed over to the kitchen, tapping him on the shoulder. He reluctantly turned to face her.

“Sanji, I’ll be blunt with you,” Nami said in a low tone. “Are you dating Luffy or not?”

Sanji blinked at the sudden question. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” she emphasized, “Luffy told me he was going out with you, but in the past couple months I haven’t seen you return his affections once. How do you really feel about him?”

The blonde turned back to his pot, looking for answers within.

“I … don’t know,” he answered.

“It’s alright to be uncertain,” Nami reassured, “but you need to be honest. He’s been parading around as your boyfriend for months now--it’s something he’s real proud of. I know it’s hard to tell, but he cares for you very deeply.”

Sanji wondered about that. He felt like he could trust Luffy, but no matter how honest the man was, Sanji still couldn’t read him. As far as he could tell, Luffy seemed to be pretty lackadaisical about the whole “boyfriends” thing.

The redhead sighed as if she could read his mind. “If you’re uncertain of your feelings, end the relationship now. He’ll understand. You can reestablish it later if you want, but if you allow him to get close and then abandon him, it’ll only end in pain.”

She grabbed his head and turned it so she could look him in the eye. “I love you, Sanji, but Luffy’s been my friend forever. I won’t forgive you if you’re still leading him on a few months down the line. We clear?”

He nodded numbly. She returned the nod and went back to her calculations, leaving Sanji to absently stir the pot.

 

~&~

 

While Sanji continued to keep silent on his relationship with Luffy, Zeff avoided the topic of moving back in. He never said a word about missing Sanji, and at times even professed that he finally had some peace and quiet. Though he seemed to be joking, it still struck Sanji at his core. Sanji tried to keep his distance, until he realized that lack of communication was what got him kicked out in the first place.

After the restaurant closed, Sanji often remained behind to help Zeff wash dishes and do inventory. Doing inventory was supposed to be the new sous-chef’s job, but Patty and Carne had wisely delegated the task to Sanji. Being aware of what they had or didn’t at any given time eased some of his worries about the restaurant. It wasn’t much, but it kept him sane, and made him feel like he still had some part in the Baratie’s future.

One evening as he and his father washed dishes side by side, heart thudding in his chest, Sanji asked casually, “Don’t you think it’s time I moved back in?”

“Are you having financial trouble?” Zeff questioned without looking up. “I thought you said your friend was letting you stay with her for free.”

“Well … yeah,” Sanji murmured. “I mean, money’s not an issue, at least not right now …”

Zeff shrugged. “Then why bring it up now? You’ve already lived such a long time away from here, there’s no point in coming back.”

“Look, old man, I understand now,” Sanji explained as calmly as he could manage. “The Baratie’s not in my hands anymore. I’m not asking you for authority, and I won’t interfere.”

“I have faith in you. But you’re not a kid anymore, you have to learn how to live on your own,” Zeff asserted. “Eventually you won’t even work here anymore--you need to get used to the outside world while you can. By the way, that reminds me, there’s still a lot of stuff in your room you need to move out.”

Sanji’s fingers went numb. He stopped scrubbing and drying plates and just looked at his father.

He had so many questions, like why Zeff had waited until now to force out the rest of Sanji’s possessions. He wanted to ask what Zeff planned to do with his room once he was gone. He wanted to know what home he could have without his father, and just what having a place to belong meant to the old man, if Sanji didn’t belong with the restaurant he spent his entire life in. Zeff, noticing that Sanji stopped talking, turned to question him. The blonde had no idea what face he was making, but it made Zeff’s face twist in shock.

“I’ll get to it sometime this week, you old shit, don’t rush me,” Sanji said, playing it off. He put his dish on the rack and then dried his hands. “Well, I’m clocking out now. See you tomorrow.”

“Sanji,” Zeff called out, but the blonde was already out of the kitchen and soon through the front door. He all but ran to his car, driving away as fast as he could.

He needed to rest. He would sit on the couch and not think about anything and just breathe until the whole world faded away. He just needed to not think. There’s no way Zeff was serious--if Sanji waited long enough, the episode would pass, and he could ask to move back in later. That’s it, Zeff was still just a little peeved.

Nami had to work late, so Sanji would have the apartment to himself. He could fix himself something to eat, lounge on the couch, and disappear for a while. He wanted nothing more in the world.

But when he opened the front door, to his complete dismay he saw Luffy running for the entryway, shoes off and looking settled in for the evening.

“Hey, Sanji!” Luffy cried happily. Why was this kid always so damn happy? “I’m glad you’re home--I was soooo bored!”

Sanji’s mind stuck on the word “home,” repeating it in an endless loop.

The other man immediately noticed something was off.

“Just get back home from work?” he asked cautiously.

The blonde nodded, listlessly shuffling over to the couch. He removed his suit jacket and dropped it carelessly on the floor, then sunk into the cushions and stared blindly at the wall. He felt the couch dip beside him.

“Did you and Zeff get into a fight?” Luffy guessed, and Sanji’s heart constricted.

“No,” he mumbled. “He was … disturbingly calm.”

He turned his gaze to the ceiling, feeling a chill radiate all the way down to his toes.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. He gave me the choice to leave after my demotion--I see that now, I had a choice. When I moved out, I should’ve left nothing behind.”

“Wait, demotion?” Luffy said quizzically, clutching Sanji’s arm. “Did something happen at the restaurant?”

The warm touch brought unbidden tears to Sanji’s eyes. They cascaded down like a waterfall.

“I lied,” Sanji choked out. “I didn’t move, Zeff kicked me out. He demoted me from being a sous-chef and I couldn’t accept that, so he told me to leave.”

“Why would he do that?” Luffy asked indignantly. “You’re great at your job!”

“I’m _not_. I’m a failure.” Sanji screwed his eyes shut and leaned his head back. His throat and chest were on fire. “I could manage a kitchen, but I couldn’t handle the pressure of running the restaurant. I was so afraid that the Baratie would go under. I still am, even though there’s no reason to be. And because of that, I got in Zeff’s way and slowed him down.”

“That’s not true. There has to be a deeper meaning to this,” Luffy said, tightening his grip. His brows were drawn in desperate determination.

Sanji weakly opened his eyes, barely making out the younger man’s blurry face. “You don’t understand. He kicked me out, but I ran away too. I ran from my responsibility, and let my fear take control. I lied and hid my feelings--it’s no wonder he can’t trust me with the Baratie anymore. You shouldn’t trust me either.”

He covered his face with both hands, filled with shame. All Luffy ever did was try his best to show Sanji affection, asking nothing in return. And from this selflessness, too, Sanji had run away. He couldn’t find the courage or conviction to push him away.

For a few moments, there was no sound but Sanji’s own hitching breaths. Then Luffy quietly asked, in a voice an octave deeper than normal, “You don’t have to hide it, Sanji. I’ve always known that we’re not in a relationship.”

Sanji’s breath stopped. He slowly removed his hands so he could look Luffy in the eye. “You … did?”

The other man smiled crookedly. “Of course. You never once said you liked me. I told you, right? I’m your boyfriend--doesn’t mean it’s the same the other way around.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanji asked brokenly.

“I didn’t think you’d be that worried about it. I figured you’d tell me how you felt when you were ready.” Luffy frowned. “Did Nami try to scare you? Tell her to mind her own business next time. This is between you and me.”

The blonde gaped like a fish. Luffy knew the whole time? And he was … okay with that?

“You don’t have to feel the same way about me. Just hanging out like this is enough, as long as you don’t mind all the touching. If you get a girlfriend, we’ll go back to being just friends,” Luffy clarified. He brushed away Sanji’s tears with his thumbs, smirking with a thousand-mile stare. Sanji felt completely see-through.

“And you’re not a failure,” Luffy emphasized. “Running doesn’t make you a coward. I think you run because you know if you stood your ground, you’d have to give up something precious. Sometimes it takes more courage to run than to move forward.”

Sanji couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His heart wanted so badly to believe Luffy’s words. He spluttered, “I just … want to be someone admirable. I want to be strong, for myself and my friends, and for Zeff …”

“If it makes any difference, you’re still the man of my dreams,” Luffy said seriously. He gathered Sanji into his arms, cradling his back and waist. Some of the heat slowly returned to Sanji’s cold body. The tracks on his cheeks had almost completely dried without him noticing.

The blonde blinked slowly, lost in a haze of confusion, relief, and bitter hopefulness. He breathed out softly, “I think I want to kiss you.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Luffy said, just as quietly. He leaned forward, hot lips ghosting over Sanji’s. “It doesn’t have to mean anything special.”

Sanji’s hands moved of their own accord, slender fingers pressing into Luffy’s neck and through his short, dark hair. Their open mouths melded seamlessly, anxiously sliding together. A curious pair of hands roamed up Sanji’s sides, thumbs kneading his ribs and moving up to his pectorals. His own hands explored the body in front of him with equal freedom, unobstructed by his normally-rational mind, which was currently wrapped up in the wet slide of Luffy’s tongue.

They broke apart, resting their foreheads together as they shared panting breaths. One of Luffy’s hands had nonchalantly unbuttoned Sanji’s shirt and snuck underneath, resting on his abdomen. Sanji thought absently that he should probably feel uncomfortable about that, but hey, his hands were creeping into Luffy’s clothes too. The younger man’s eyes stared unblinkingly at him, soaking in every detail. They glittered, black like the deepest fathoms of the ocean. Sanji’s eyes slowly closed as Luffy pushed back his blonde fringe with one hand and claimed his mouth once more. 

They could forget about all this tomorrow. Nothing would change, unless Sanji wanted it to. This didn’t have to mean anything.

But it did.

 

~&~

 

A few days later at the Baratie, the end of the lunch rush found Brook idly plucking at the strings of his violin. Only a few straggling customers remained, poking lazily at their food. He tried to tempt them with an offer for a serenade, but he was politely turned down. Maybe he could take a short break, then, and get one of the chefs to pour him a drink.

He was about to pack up and head for the kitchen when he saw a familiar man stride into the building and onto the dining floor.

“Luffy!” Brook sang out. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The young man grinned broadly and returned the greeting. He visited Sanji at work so often that he’d become well-known among the whole staff. Even though he got in the way and annoyed the employees with incessant questions, somehow they had managed to gain a pretty good impression of him.

“Sanj’s not here right now. I was told he took a few days off for personal reasons,” Brook informed him, looking rather concerned.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about him, he’s just taking some time to relax,” Luffy chirped. “Actually, I’m here to talk to his old man today. You know where he is?”

“Of course.” Brook pointed to the staircase and instructed, “Go to the upper floor, and his office is the first door on the left. Make sure to knock.”

“Will do. Hey, play me some dramatic walking music, will you?” Luffy demanded joyfully. All too happy to oblige, Brook sawed a lively tune, barking a laugh at how the young man danced up the steps.

At the top of the stairs, Luffy quickly located the office door--plain and unassuming, without even a placard denoting Zeff’s title. Luffy gave a rapid knock and the Zeff grunted for him to enter. The old chef looked up as he walked in, eyebrows raising.

“Luffy? Are you looking for Sanji? He’s out today.”

“Actually, it’s you who I want to talk to. Do you have time?” Luffy requested politely, showing far more poise and grace than he ever had before.

Zeff pushed aside the work on his desk and bridged his fingers together. “Of course. What do you want to talk about?”

A brief smile flickered across Luffy’s face, then suddenly snapped into a hard expression, eyes dilating in rage.

“About how I’m going to rip out your fucking mustache and feed it to you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Much to Brook’s surprise, Sanji walked into the Baratie not long after Luffy disappeared upstairs. He was carrying a bento box wrapped in a delicate lace handkerchief.

“What are you doing here?” Brook asked, walking to meet him. The blonde placed the bento box in his spindly fingers. “Oh! Oho! Not just to deliver this to me, surely?”

“I just missed this place. I’m glad I get to come back tomorrow,” Sanji said with a smirk. “Take pride though, Brook, I wouldn’t bother making a meal for anyone else on my day off. Not even my old shit-stain.”

“Speaking of Zeff, your friend Luffy dropped by to see him,” Brook said.

The blonde blinked. “Luffy? Why?”

“I have no idea,” Brook murmured. “Well, Patty and Carne just headed up to the office a second ago--we’ll ask them when they come back down.”

A shout came from the top of the staircase, startling them both. They turned to see Patty and Carne scrambling down the steps, dragging Luffy behind them. The whole way down to the main floor, the young man struggled and surged against their grip. He was only half their size but still managed to tear himself away every few seconds before being recaptured. It took all their strength to restrain him, enduring violent kicks and jabbing elbows.

 

Sanji had never seen Luffy this angry. Hell, he’d never seen him get truly angry at all. The scar on Luffy’s cheek curved like a sharp fang, reinforcing his ferocious snarl. The blonde watched for the object of Luffy’s anger to appear at the top of the stairs, and to his dismay, saw Zeff lean out over the landing. Father and son exchanged bewildered glances.

“What on earth happened?!” Brook shrieked, almost dropping the bento box.

“We went up there to talk to the boss,” Patty shouted, “and this kid had him pulled over the desk by his moustache!”

“I don’t know why you’re angry,” Zeff said firmly to Luffy, “but you need to calm down. See, Sanji’s here--you’ll only embarrass yourself if you continue to act this way.”

“I don’t care!” Luffy yelled back. “You’re the one who deserves to feel ashamed!”

“Ashamed? For what?” Carne rejoined, roughly fisting Luffy’s shirt. “What makes you think you can come in here and assault our boss?!”

“Luffy, everyone, stop,” Sanji commanded loudly, but they were all past the point of listening.

“Do you have any idea how much you hurt Sanji?” Luffy screamed at the old man standing proud and unmoving on the landing. “You abandoned him! You made him feel like a failure!”

“ _Luffy_!” Sanji cried in panic.

Zeff’s eyes widened, and for the third time in his life, Sanji saw the mask begin to crack.

“You could have at least been there to wipe away his tears, but you couldn’t even do that! He blamed himself for your cowardice and let you stay ignorant!” Luffy kicked Patty in the shin over and over, trying to free the left side of his body. “I’ll never forgive you! I’ll kick your ass if it’s the last thing I do!”

He twisted free of Patty’s grasp and elbowed Carne in the stomach, finally getting the freedom he struggled for. But before he could ascend the stairs, Sanji dashed over and cut him down with a smooth kick. The younger man fell flat onto the floor, completely still. Sanji was afraid he’d knocked him out, but then Luffy pushed himself onto his knees, nose and lip dripping red pearls onto the ground.

“Why,” Sanji gasped shakily, fists tightening. “Why are you doing this? This is the last thing I wanted.” A scream tore from his throat, “I never asked you to do this! I trusted you! Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?”

Luffy’s head whipped up and he shouted, “ _I tried_! I told myself to wait until you came back to work--that it’d all blow over. But--” He clenched his teeth, eyes watering. “Then I’d remember your sad face.”

He got to his feet, dizzy from the blow to his head. “I’m sorry. I really am. But when someone hurts the person I love, how can you expect me to sit back and do nothing?!”

The entire dining floor fell deathly silent. Everyone, even the leftover patrons, looked between Sanji and Luffy expectantly.

“Get out of here,” Sanji hissed, pointing to the door. “Until you’re ready to apologize to my father, I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

Luffy’s face tightened, pain flashing through his eyes. He said nothing, just threw a glare at Zeff over his shoulder, then brushed past Sanji and stormed out of the Baratie. That left the blonde standing frozen, bearing the full brunt of everyone’s attention. Brook held a hand to his mouth, eyes wet behind his sunglasses.

The blonde hung his head. “I should probably go.”

“No,” Zeff ordered in a trembling voice. “I’m not done with you. You sit down there and wait until I call you to my office--we’ve got a lot to talk about. Patty, Carne, go back to the kitchen. And Brook, you make sure that Sanji doesn’t run.”

Then Zeff disappeared down the hall and they heard a door slam shut. At a loss, Patty and Carne looked at Sanji pleadingly.

“Don’t,” Sanji whispered hoarsely. “Just don’t.”

They remained for a few seconds, but when Sanji’s silence dragged on, they regretfully made their way back to the kitchen, casting glances back at him on the way. The blonde turned to Brook, whose lower lip shook terribly.

“Hey. Why are you sniveling?” Sanji asked weakly. “I’m the one who should be crying.”

The musician threw his arms around Sanji, gripping him tightly. He said nothing, which was good, because Sanji was in no mood to talk. He rested his head on Brook’s collarbone, too cold and empty to cry. He had no idea what he was going to say to Zeff.

Ten agonizing minutes passed before Zeff called him upstairs. He asked Sanji to explain what happened, and with no more room for lies or cover-ups, he let the truth pour out. He told Zeff the full extent of his love for the Baratie, the memories he bottled like precious treasures in his heart, and his fear at how the older they grew, the farther apart they became. He told Zeff about Luffy, and all the ill-conceived kisses, and the way he broke down in the man’s arms. He told Zeff everything, in one constant stream that flowed out perfectly concise and clear, encapsulating every uncertainty he’d never had the words to express. At the end of his confession, he watched Zeff cover his face with one huge, calloused hand, shoulders shaking.

“I don’t blame you or anything,” Sanji told him. “Sometimes misunderstandings happen.”

“This is more than a misunderstanding,” Zeff barked, keeping his eyes hidden. “I can’t believe you felt that way all this time. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Water seeped through the veil of Zeff’s fingers, making Sanji alarmed. He opened his mouth to speak, but shock rendered his voice useless.

“I thought I was doing right by you,” Zeff gasped painfully. “I couldn’t bear to chain you to this restaurant. I wanted you to find your own dream, and lose your obligation to me. And yet, if this was the price of your independence …”

The old man gritted his teeth and let out a sob, “Then I failed you as a father!”

Sanji lunged over the desk and clutched Zeff in an embrace, muttering, “No, no, no, no, don’t say that. Don’t say that! That’s not true! You’re the best dad I have. You’re the only dad I have. You’re the only one I want. So please don’t say you’ve failed. Neither of us have.”

Zeff reached out with one hand, grasping Sanji’s shoulder tightly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I know,” Sanji said. “I know.”

Gradually they separated, awkward and dishevelled and with puffy eyes. Zeff looked at his son and sighed tiredly, “If you really want to move back in, you can. I’ve … missed you. All I ask is that you don’t chain yourself to this place.”

Sanji nodded. “I’ll think about it. First I’ll try living on my own for a while longer. You wanted me to try that so you must think I have something to learn from it.”

“Alright,” Zeff conceded. He cleared his throat and stood up. “I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve had just about enough excitement for one day, and I need an aspirin.”

“I’ll go let Brook know everything’s okay before I leave,” Sanji promised. “You deal with Patty and Carne though. If I go they’ll just hammer me with questions.”

He turned to leave, putting his hand on the doorknob.

“Hey,” Zeff called hesitantly. “I love you.”

Sanji smiled in relief. “Me too.” Then he left the office and closed the door behind him.

As he descended the steps he saw Brook anxiously waiting on the ground. The performer asked gently, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just exhausted now,” Sanji laughed shakily.

“I understand if you want me to mind my own business,” Brook began, “but I want you to know that if you ever need anything from me, or want to talk, I’m here for you.”

Blue eye downcast, Sanji rubbed his neck nervously. “You know, actually … I think there is something I’d like to ask you. Can we sit down for a minute?”

He led Brook to a table near the back of the restaurant, far away from prying eyes. Once they sat down, Sanji said, “You’ve had a lot of life experience. I want your opinion on something. Two people today have said they love me--”

“Zeff said he loved you?” Brook piped up, immediately being shushed with both hands.

“Quiet!” Sanji hissed, face burning. “Don’t interrupt. Two people today said they love me--you heard the first one.”

The musician nodded solemnly.

“Luffy and I … well, it’s complicated,” Sanji hedged. “I’m still furious with him, but I want to take his feelings seriously. However, I’m not certain of my own feelings, or how to even define what is ‘like’ and what is ‘love.’ I mean, I’ve been romantically attracted to people before, but I don’t think it’s the same in this case. What do you think it means to love a person? As a significant other, I mean.”

Perplexed, the old man rubbed his chin. “Hm … That’s hard to answer. It’s a complex emotion, and everyone experiences it differently …”

“Then dumb it down for me,” Sanji demanded irritably.

“I guess you could start by asking yourself, would you die for that person?” Brook suggested.

The blonde wrinkled his nose, making Brook laugh. The tension eased off a bit. “Geez, Brook, I’m not looking to marry the guy. I just … I guess I want to know where the line is between having fun with someone and getting serious.”

“Well,” Brook hummed, “if you’re just having fun with someone, that doesn’t make your feelings any less relevant.”

“What do you mean?”

The musician leaned back and crossed his legs. “Let me illustrate with a personal story,” he said, holding up a finger. “When I was in my thirties--yes, eons ago, I know--I played a lot of bars and taverns, and practically crawled on my hands and knees for work. Seemed like no matter where I went, no matter how well I could sing or play, nobody wanted me.”

He smiled nostalgically, looking off at the sea through the patio window.

“I slept on the streets a lot. During those days, there was one man who always came to every single show I performed, whether in a bar or on the street. And after every show, he would ask if he could buy me coffee,” he snorted, “Like it were a privilege. I can’t tell you how many days we wasted talking about nothing. I don’t think he knew a thing about music--definitely couldn’t carry a tune.”

He laughed with an airy trill, bringing a smile to Sanji’s face as well.

“But, without fail, I saw him after every performance. Once, when I was busking and there was nowhere to sit, he plopped right down on the ground in front of me--knees drawn up, chin in hand, like a child.” He sighed, shaking his head fondly. “When I finally secured a steady job at a jazz club the next town over, to my complete surprise, he followed me there too.”

“Creepy,” Sanji added helpfully.

Brook smirked. “A little. I asked him about it, and he revealed that he was a drifter, with no family and too many friends. He worked freelance, digging ditches, basic manual labor, and anything else you could do with little to no training. He said to me, ‘I can find a crappy job anywhere, but if I want true music and good company, I have to go wherever you are.’”

The blonde pitched in sarcastically, “A real smooth-talker, huh?”

“Yohohoho! Yes, but it worked,” Brook admitted, cheeks dusted pink. “I didn’t receive his formal confession until a few months later, but I was long prepared to respond in kind. We immediately put in an order for a pair of rings--the first purchase we ever made together.”

Sanji was appalled. “Rings? Don’t you usually date first?”

“As far as we could see it, we’d been dating the whole time.”

The blonde paused, trying to wrap his head around the old performer’s apparent whirlwind romance. After a while, he asked, “Well, then, where did you go from there?”

“Where?” Brook cocked his head, thinking. “Well, we continued as we had. I played music and he worked. He committed to getting trained for a real job, and once he secured one, we moved in together in a tiny, cramped apartment.”

“No ceremony, or anything like that?” Sanji asked, hands splayed in disbelief. “Just … hung out, then rings, then a shitty apartment?”

“Well, we did eventually buy a house and settle down, though that was after adopting our son--”

“Wait, a _son_?” Sanji shouted, voice breaking. “You have a son?”

Brook smirked patiently. “I find it hard to believe Zeff’s never told you that.”

Now that the man mentioned it, Sanji did vaguely recall his father saying something like that. He rubbed his face, muttering, “I must have thought he was joking.”

“Hardly,” Brook scoffed lightly. “The boy’s over thirty years old by now.”

“Well he definitely never told me you were married, and I never would have guessed, since I’ve never seen you wear a ring,” Sanji defended, presenting his ring finger in illustration.

The musician laughed softly. “I guess we weren’t really ‘married,’ not on paper at least. Even though we were together for thirty-seven years …”

Some of the tension returned to Brook’s frame. Sanji hesitated but felt the need to ask, “Where is he now?”

“In the ground, where all men belong,” Brook sighed. “He died of illness, and not a moment too soon. He suffered for six long months before death took him.”

“I’m … so sorry,” Sanji offered, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t be. I’ve moved on--that’s why I no longer wear the ring. He would’ve wanted me to move forward, perhaps with someone new at my side,” the old man shrugged. “I just … haven’t found anyone else who can make me feel as grand as he could.”

His nostalgic smile returned full force, this time without pain. “Sometimes, it’s as simple as that. If someone makes you happy, hold onto them.”

“But my friends make me happy. So does the old shit, and the cooks here,” Sanji argued. He recalled Luffy’s fierce expression as he blurted out his love declaration. The blonde was still having trouble internalizing it, which was most likely why he wasn’t panicking.

“How do I tell the difference between that, and … something more?” he pressed.

“You’re overcomplicating things. Happiness is deeper than theory. You’ll feel it, if you just ease up on all that thinking,” Brook assured him calmly.

The blonde took a deep breath, running a hand through his fringe. He had a lot of thinking to do. 

“I just … wow,” he said mindlessly. “I never would have thought, you with another guy …”

“I never expected it either. You know how I love panties,” Brook said, high-pitched laugh ringing through the whole restaurant. “But some people are special. You’re special, too. Your heart will tell you what it wants, just give it time. And if Luffy really wants to be with you, he’ll be patient and understand.”

“He also better apologize,” Sanji snarled. “I still can’t believe he blabbed straight to Zeff’s face. And manhandled his moustache!”

“I don’t know, I thought it was sort of romantic,” Brook teased. “But you are right--he does need to repent. Just go easy on him, okay?”

“I’ll consider it,” Sanji droned, completely unconvincing. He stood and held out his hand. “I owe you one, Brook. I’ll figure out the rest on my own.”

“Don’t be so formal,” Brook scolded, coming around the table to put an arm across Sanji’s shoulder. “Take care now, alright? I’ll be thinking about you.”

They said goodbye and parted ways, Sanji making the drive home with a much lighter heart. Talking to Zeff had been awful, but something he needed to do. And now with Luffy’s confession tossed into the mix, Sanji had a lot more to think about. But at least he could do his thinking guilt-free now that he knew Luffy was okay with them being … whatever nebulous thing they were.

He arrived home, parked, and as he was drawing up to Nami’s apartment saw Luffy sitting on the ground beside the door, knees drawn up. The man jumped to his feet as soon as he saw Sanji approach and opened his mouth to speak, but the blonde cut him off.

“It doesn’t work like that,” he sighed. “You can’t just apologize right afterward. Do you even feel sorry for what you said?”

“No,” Luffy admitted with a shameful wince. “I meant what I said to Zeff. But … I still wanted to apologize to you, at least. I gave away your secrets, and embarrassed you. For that, I am sorry.”

He began to get on his knees, but Sanji hastened to pull him back to his feet.

“Look, okay, I get it. Don’t fuckin’ prostrate yourself,” he muttered.

“And I will apologize to Zeff too,” Luffy vowed sincerely. “I know I have to spend time and think about what I’ve done, but I will apologize. So please don’t hate me.”

The blonde stared him down, gaze slowly growing softer. He didn’t want to forgive Luffy just yet, but he understood where the man came from. Just like Sanji rushed to Zeff’s rescue, Luffy only wanted to protect someone important to him.

“Of course I don’t hate you,” Sanji said. He reached out to the hand at Luffy’s side, gingerly linking their fingers. “I … honestly think I might like you. I don’t know yet.” He raised his eyes shyly. “Back at the restaurant you said you loved me. Can I take that as your confession?”

Luffy nodded silently.

“Then I’ll start taking our relationship seriously. I can’t promise that I’ll love you back, but I want to try.” He smiled hopefully. “Given enough time, maybe I can. Is that okay?”

“Time’s something I got plenty of,” Luffy agreed. He pursed his lips, eyes flickering away. “So um … is it okay if I come by the apartment tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. But tonight, give me a break. You understand, right?”

The other man nodded once more.

“Alright then,” Sanji said, releasing Luffy’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Come hungry, okay?”

They both shared a timid, grateful smile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What follows is a poorly-composed nsfw scene. Please read at your own risk!

The weeks just keep flying by, Sanji thought to himself. Luffy had long since made his apology to Zeff on bended knee, after which he was harshly berated by the old man for casting off his pride. Despite that incident, when Luffy left the Baratie afterward no hostility remained between them.

True to his word, Sanji whole-heartedly tried to get used to the concept of independent living. Thankfully, Zeff agreed to leave his leftover possessions untouched until Sanji made his final decision. It wasn’t so bad, especially since Nami, Luffy, and their friends had completely assimilated him. Occasionally Usopp hung out with them, too--he and Sanji pledged to bring Franky someday, if the man ever took time off.

The rare times Sanji had the house to himself were actually nice. He’d begun looking for his own apartment, but not too diligently. Most of the places in his price range were a no-go, though. They weren’t big enough to accommodate all his friends at once, and that was unacceptable.

He’d been spending even more time with Luffy, too. Ever since Sanji had committed to the relationship, the floodgates opened and now Luffy texted him nonstop, came over almost every evening, and even spent the night a few times in a row. He was so enthusiastic and noisy that Nami had almost completely stopped coming home until the dead of night when Luffy was either gone or asleep. Poor Nami, Sanji thought, not even safe in her own home. Though he got the feeling she was trying to give he and Luffy time alone, too. Either way, he was grateful--especially since Luffy became bolder by the day, stealing kisses with that precious excuse, “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Tonight he was taking his usual liberties, casually reclining against Sanji’s chest as they watched TV. Sanji had given up pushing him away a long time ago--now he even welcomed the contact, cradling Luffy’s waist with an arm while absently watching whatever kung fu movie Luffy had turned on. He didn’t know what it was called, just that it was the fifth iteration in a series of eight. He supposed it didn’t matter as long as all the actors kept punching each other.

“I’m gonna get a snack,” Luffy declared, slipping off the couch and out of Sanji’s grasp. The blonde listened to him pad around the kitchen in his bare feet. He heard the loud slam of cabinets opening and closing and silverware being jostled around.

“What are you looking for?” Sanji asked without turning around.

“Those little sesame seed rolls. I can’t find them anywhere in the cupboards.”

“That’s because they’re not _in_ the cupboards,” Sanji reminded, rolling his eyes. “You know that. How many times have you eaten here, dumbass?”

“Where are they, then?” Luffy asked.

“Check on top of the fridge,” Sanji suggested.

Luffy called back, “Nope.”

“What? That’s where they were the last time I saw them. Maybe Nami ate them,” Sanji pondered. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, lazily scratching his back. “Here, let me look for it.”

“You’ve only got one eye,” Luffy quipped, back turned to the blonde as he rose on his toes to reach a squat cupboard above the fridge. “How are you gonna find it quicker than me?”

Sanji barked a laugh, a snappy comeback on the tip of his tongue. It died there on his lips as his eyes rode the soft, fleshy curve where Luffy’s neck met his upturned jaw. From there they followed the indulgent arc of the man’s spine, perfectly showcased by a thin, fitted shirt. Something released inside of Sanji and a burning heat suddenly lanced through his stomach. Before he could stop himself, he threw his arms around Luffy’s sturdy frame, one cinching his waist and the other travelling the line of his neck until fingers traced the ridge of his jaw. Sanji pressed his chest to the younger man’s back until Luffy’s skin, clothes, and scent filled every nook and cranny of space between them. He felt Luffy respond, pushing back until their bodies were molded together.

The blonde brushed Luffy’s temple with his lips--a tender gesture, but far from chaste. He just barely restrained himself enough to pull back and look Luffy in the face. To his surprise, the other man simply observed him as if he were some marvelous, alien creature. His black eyes held no heat, only the same cool composure as usual, and a trace of mirth.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sanji stepped back, alarmed. What the hell was he getting ready to do, pressing Luffy up against the fridge like that? He scrubbed his face with a palm, averting his gaze.

“I-I’m fine,” he lied gracefully. “Just felt like it, I guess.”

“I see,” Luffy hummed. “Still gonna help me find the snacks?”

“Oh! Sure.” Sanji rummaged a little more through the cupboards until eventually he found what Luffy was looking for.

When he handed off the box of snacks, Luffy’s fingers lingered on his for a while, inducing a shudder. The younger man gave him a sly smirk and whispered lowly, “Thanks.” Sanji, rooted to spot, helplessly watched the other man walk back to the living room. Shivers rolled up and down his back.

Okay, he comforted himself, this is natural, right? Sometimes a man just gets pent up--the fact that his fingers were still tingling and the lower half of his body burned, none of it meant a damn thing. He returned to the couch with Luffy and they finished their movie, albeit with a little discomfort on Sanji’s part.

Unfortunately, like many of Sanji’s problems, this one refused to go away with time. As the following week unfolded, he found himself pitching more tents than a class of sixth graders on a summer camping trip. His fingers would catch the dip in Luffy’s wrist or the edge of his hip, sending the chef’s brain on holiday. Even a beautiful woman could not take him apart so skillfully with just a touch or a look. But the worst part was, Luffy didn’t seem interested at all. He was obviously aware of Sanji’s problem, teasing him with a seductive wink whenever given the chance, but his face remained the same, and his skin free of sweat while Sanji felt gross and clammy.

Of course, they still spent several hours out of the day together, so Sanji only got worse and worse. He was going crazy, fingertips starved of that smooth, tan skin. He needed to talk to somebody before he either mauled Luffy or killed himself.

His prayers were answered when he got a call from Franky one weekend. Usopp was out for the day and the mechanic needed help with something. He beseeched Sanji to come into the shop. Luckily, Luffy wasn’t around, so Sanji agreed and fled the apartment before the scar-faced man could appear to tempt him again.

When he arrived at the auto shop, he was surprised to see Robin sitting outside the garage on a lawn chair with Franky perched near her feet, the two of them chatting. She was the first to see Sanji, directing Franky to look over.

“Hey man, thanks for coming on such short notice,” Franky beamed. “It’s only a small thing, it won’t take very long. Just give me a second to get it out of the garage and we’ll get to work.”

The blue-haired man hefted up one of the shutters and disappeared inside, letting the door clang shut behind him. Sanji turned to Robin, exchanging a smile with her.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” he ventured, taking the spot Franky just vacated.

“I’ve been really busy,” she admitted, head bowed in regret.

“You have time to visit Franky, though,” Sanji pointed out. “I had no idea you knew each other. Does he work on your car?”

“Occasionally,” she responded, giving him an oddly secretive smile. “I’ve missed you. Nami’s been keeping me up to date for the time being. She says you’re getting along well with her friends.”

“Yeah, she knows some really cool people. Except for that green-haired bastard,” Sanji scowled.

Robin laughed good-naturedly. “I also hear you’re going out with Luffy now. For the most part.”

“Ah--yeah,” he mumbled, face heating up. “It’s been … weird, but we’re hoping it’ll work out. Just trying to relax and take it a day at a time.”

He paused, chewing his lip. Robin was level-headed and mature. She had a great deal of life experience too, probably enough to rival Brook’s. Maybe she’d be able to help him. If not, at least she wouldn’t tease him.

“This might be a strange thing to ask,” Sanji hedged, “but I’d like your opinion on something … personal. _Really_ personal.”

Robin raised her eyebrows and made a zipper out of her mouth. “This conversation doesn’t leave the parking lot.”

“Right,” the chef sighed, slightly relieved. Where the fuck should he start, though? “Well … uh … lately I’ve been having some trouble. Trouble I’ve never had before. Trouble with my uh … extremities not listening to the main control center,” he said, pointing to his head. “If you get my meaning.”

Robin dipped her head knowingly and motioned for him to continue.

“You see, I’ve dated plenty of girls before, but sex was just a … follow-up, I guess, to all the romantic foreplay. It doesn’t interest me unless I’m already romantically involved.”

“Let me guess--Luffy is beginning to arouse you, and you want to figure out what to do about that?” Robin asked with all the scientific calmness of the shrink she was surely destined to be.

Sanji swallowed hard, scratching his head awkwardly. “That’s the long and the short of it. Only … I don’t know if I actually want to act on those feelings or not. And Luffy’s sending me mixed signals. He doesn’t seem interested in sex at all. Did he ever get … um … intimate with his previous partners?”

Her eyes drifted off thoughtfully. “Hm … he’s had a few other boyfriends in the past, but none that he slept with to my knowledge. Those relationships were even more nebulous than yours, though. He might feel differently now that he’s emotionally involved.”

The blonde rested his chin in his hands, gazing forlornly across the lot. “I just … don’t get it. He said he loved me, which is great and all, but … I feel like the more I get close to him, the emotion just isn’t enough. Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so,” Robin said, rubbing his back comfortingly. “You know, Franky is the same way too. For some people, intimacy doesn’t mean anything until they find the right person, and then it means everything.”

“Franky is?” Sanji questioned. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Why did she bring him up? How close were they, anyway? Maybe they were … no, it couldn’t be.

“Don’t bottle up your feelings,” she advised with a playful grin. “Luffy’s cruel for teasing you, but he’ll listen to you earnestly. You should know that by now. Who knows, maybe he can give you what you need.”

“I guess you’re right. I wish you weren’t, though,” the chef groaned. “I’ve had enough awkward conversations to last a lifetime.”

“You’ll get through it,” she assured, giving him a pat for good measure.

Finally, the garage shutter flew open again. Sanji and Robin turned to look and saw a small white Volkswagen slowly back out, freshly painted and looking like it just left the factory. But Sanji could tell by the familiar model that it wasn’t a new car.

He shot to his feet, mouth wide open. He pointed accusingly at the car as Franky stepped out of the driver’s side. “Is this what I fucking think it is?”

The mechanic tossed him a scratched up, familiar key. Sanji thought he was gonna pass out. Franky jogged to his side, throwing an arm around his shoulder. He presented the car with a long sweep of his other arm.

“How do you like it? New paint, reupholstered interior, and new tires. There’s a spare in the trunk already, perfect for a rainy day.” A self-satisfied grin stretched across the mechanic’s rugged, greasy face. “Drives like new, too.”

“Oh my God,” Sanji croaked over and over. “Oh my God, Franky, oh my God. You turned it into a fucking sportscar. You’re just gonna give this back to me? For free?”

“Consider it a thank you for all your business. Besides, no one else has the right to have it. That car is yours and Zeff’s alone--I could never give it away.”

Sanji dove headfirst into Franky’s torso, squeezing him tight. “There’s no way I can ever repay you. Thank you so much.”

The blue-haired man heartily returned the embrace so strongly Sanji’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Just make sure you thank Usopp when he gets back--he helped me with all the repairs. He had an appointment with a professor that he couldn’t miss, so he had to leave. I told him we could wait until tomorrow but he insisted I show you as soon as possible.”

“I’ll suffocate him,” Sanji proclaimed cheerfully, eyes wet with joy. “I’m so happy. The car that I grew up in was saved.”

“Yes, yes, your treasured memories were preserved. But let’s get down to what’s really important,” Robin mused, snatching the key out of Sanji’s hand. She dangled it in front of his face playfully. “Want to see how many donuts it can do?”

She walked to the driver’s side, hips swaying proudly, as the two men clambered excitedly after her. As the engine revved up, Sanji rolled down the window, sticking his head out like a dog. The sound of squealing tires reached his ears, drowning out all other noise. He couldn’t wait to show Zeff.

Robin showed off the new sharper turning radius for about half an hour before Sanji received a call from Luffy. The blonde gave him a hasty explanation, begging him to come see the car. Luckily, the younger man was close enough to run to the auto shop. He arrived ten minutes later, sweaty and out of breath. He had just enough time to gawk at the shiny, refurbished Volkswagen before he received another personal demonstration of its incredible donut-making capability. Franky suggested they take the car for a spin and celebrate with a meal at a nearby grill house, an idea everyone lauded with great praise. When Sanji got inside to drive them there, sitting behind the wheel again for the first time in over half a year, he just barely managed to keep himself from sobbing.

They drove to the grill house, where they shared drinks and listened to stories about Sanji’s childhood until the moon began its nightly ascent. Though none of them wanted to part, Robin had to get up early in the morning and Sanji was a little too emotionally overwhelmed to continue partying. He dropped Franky back at the shop, thanking him profusely once more. Then he took Robin home and brought Luffy back to the apartment. By the time they arrived, the chilly air had already seeped into their bones. In his obliviousness to all but his inner struggles, the crisp fall season had crept up on him.

They stepped inside the doorway, removing their shoes. Sanji yawned, “I’m guessing you want to stay the night.”

“Yup,” Luffy confirmed, trudging into the kitchen. He plucked a piece of paper off the fridge, handing it to Sanji as he rounded the corner. “Hey, Nami left us a note.”

The blonde took it, reading aloud, “‘Hey guys, I’ll be gone tonight. Staying at a coworker’s.’ Huh. Hope everything’s okay.”

“If we’ve got the whole place to ourselves, want to watch another movie?” Luffy suggested.

“Nah, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go straight to sleep.”

“I’ll lay down too, then.”

Anticipating that Sanji might be staying for a long time, Nami recently caved and purchased a futon for him. It wasn’t very big, but was still large enough for he and Luffy to share. They carefully assembled it in the living room and retrieved some blankets before bedding down for the night. Luffy took the time to strip down to his boxers first, but Sanji couldn’t be bothered, opting to flop unceremoniously onto the futon. Luffy laid down beside him.

“We should take the car and go show Zeff tomorrow,” he piped up. The blonde grunted in response, already toeing the line between reality and the dream world. He drifted in and out of a light slumber for a while before finally opening his eyes again. Luffy’s eyes were closed, lips slightly parted. Sanji swallowed hard and cursed his luck--what a fine time for his desire to rear its ugly head. He reached out and gently stroked the sleeping man’s cheek. It had taken him a long time to realize, but Luffy really was beautiful. Brook’s words echoed in his mind, telling him to be with who made him happy. Maybe the answer to his conflicted emotions really was that simple.

Luffy roused from his slumber, the fog of sleep quickly clearing from his dark eyes. Surprised, Sanji tried to retract his hand but Luffy caught and held it firmly. The blonde stared wide-eyed as Luffy leaned in, pressing their mouths together insistently. A fresh wave of sluggish heat crawled up Sanji’s spine, burning away all rational thought. He lost himself in the warmth of Luffy’s mouth, matching each languid stroke of his tongue. All the while his hands began their mindless roaming, pressing thumbs firmly into the hollows of Luffy’s hipbones. In return, Luffy hooked two fingers in Sanji’s belt loops, pulling their hips together.

Sanji moaned brokenly. Fuck, he was hard. And from the feel of it, Luffy wasn’t at all.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Sanji said.

Luffy pushed himself onto one elbow, looking over his boyfriend with amusement. “You say that, but you’ve been holding back for a while now.”

“Of course,” the blonde snapped irritably. “What should I have done--jump you?”

Rolling his eyes, Luffy held a hand up in front of Sanji’s face. “See my hand? Watch real closely.”

He slowly ran the hand down Sanji’s chest, fingers trailing over and beyond the button of Sanji’s pants. He pressed the heel of his palm against Sanji’s zipper and kneaded slowly. The blonde gasped and threw his head back.

“You can’t just _go_ from zero to sixty like that,” he growled.

“Who says?” Luffy argued, leaning in to swallow the other man’s objections with another kiss. He slowly stroked Sanji through the fabric of his pants, bringing him to painful stiffness. When Luffy’s mouth finally pulled away, he tugged Sanji’s bottom lip with him. “How many more months of dinner and foreplay are you going to make me sit through?”

His hand ventured lower, dipping underneath the cloth around Sanji’s hips. The blonde desperately grabbed Luffy’s wrist, preventing him from going further. He looked up pleadingly, eyes half-glazed by lust.

“I don’t want this unless we can both enjoy it,” he persisted.

“You’re always overthinking shit,” Luffy chided in response. “What I do or don’t enjoy--you let me worry about that. In the meantime, just trust me. Relax and concentrate on my hand.”

And with that, he deftly unbuttoned Sanji’s trousers and his hand snaked inside, gently teasing the flesh through the underwear. He smirked triumphantly as Sanji arched against his hand with a painful whimper. Though unease still lurked within those deep blue eyes, he couldn’t control his exhilaration. God, he wanted this so bad--wanted Luffy to press every sensitive stretch of skin, and now the man’s calloused hand was pushing down his briefs to wrap firmly around his taut member. Sanji rolled his hips into the touch, breath shuddering at the warmth of Luffy’s palm.

“Relax,” Luffy crooned, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. He moved his hand in long, slow strokes, twisting with every upstroke, until Sanji’s hips began to shake. He whispered lowly into the other man’s ear, “Do you want to fuck my hand?”

Groaning helplessly, Sanji screwed his eyes shut and nodded. He wanted it so fucking bad his hips started moving before Luffy gave his permission, thrusting into the tight heat of his palm. Luffy chuckled teasingly, “Hey, don’t close your eyes.”

“Do you want me to die?” Sanji asked hoarsely, eyes cracking open just a bit.

Luffy laughed, “You’ll be fine. How about you take your shirt off for me? I’m a little occupied right now.”

The blonde complied, pulling his tee off over his head. As soon as the cloth was out of the way, Luffy kissed a trail down Sanji’s chest, making detours to the soft ridges of his pectoral muscles. Luffy carefully shifted on his knees until his shoulders were perpendicular to Sanji’s hips, mouth descending further until his cheek touched the hand cradling Sanji’s stiff flesh. A mischievous grin grew on Luffy’s face as they locked eyes.

“I’ll die,” Sanji reiterated, but Luffy wasn’t listening. Electricity danced up the blonde’s spine as Luffy’s lips pressed against the head of his dick. Oh fuck, they were really doing this, huh? Sanji fisted his hand in Luffy’s hair, gritting his teeth when a slick tongue brushed along the side of his length. Then before he had a chance to catch his breath, Luffy’s hot mouth wrapped around him and started to suck.

“Nngh, God,” Sanji swore, back arching again. He could feel his nails dig into Luffy’s scalp so he tried to relax, but that was easier said than done when the other man was fervently going down on him. He was a little clumsy and definitely inexperienced, but if anything, this realization made Sanji’s pulse skyrocket. Guess Robin was right--Luffy probably didn’t sleep with his previous partners much, if at all. Sanji tried not to get a swelled head about it.

Luffy took Sanji’s hand and gently guided it to the front of his own boxers. He wasn’t hard, but definitely getting there. So he was enjoying himself, then. The blonde carefully reached underneath the waistband and cupped the flesh beneath, making Luffy’s breath catch. Blood pounding in his ears, Sanji felt him over like a blind man, fingers memorizing every detail of his rapidly-stiffening dick. Wow, he was pretty big. Sanji made a mental note to devote some time to mapping out Luffy’s entire body someday, find out just how to take him apart.

He was doing a pretty good job already judging by the way Luffy moaned, brows drawing together. As Luffy worked Sanji’s shaft with his mouth and hand, the blonde watched him unblinkingly, focusing all attention on the ministrations of his own hand. Now and then he’d touch _just_ the right place, dig his finger into the slit, and Luffy would shiver deliciously and let out a groan.

“Finally getting in the mood, huh?” Sanji pointed out vengefully, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.

Luffy pulled his mouth off with a pop, giving Sanji a few more measured strokes. Finally he got to see those cold, calm eyes glazed over with passion.

“Yeah. I think you’re just about ready to fuck me, too,” Luffy replied nonchalantly.

Sanji choked out, “You want me to do what now?”

“It’ll be fine. Guys do it all the time, right?” Luffy frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I mean, I’ve never really done it before, but I get the basics. And I’m sure you have an idea, too.”

“I can assure you I know next to nothing in comparison,” Sanji deadpanned. He never had occasion to wonder how sex worked between two men until now. Though in retrospect, perhaps he could have better spent his sexually frustrated moments researching exactly what he could do to Luffy when the time came.

“You don’t want to? That’s a shame. Guess you’ll have to finish off in my mouth or my hand, then.” Luffy laughed, “Unless you were suggesting that _I_ fuck _you_.”

Sanji flushed scarlet-red. No, he wasn’t suggesting that. But now the thought was in stuck in his head and wouldn’t leave. He averted his gaze, saying timidly, “Um … well, you do know better than me, so …”

“What?” Luffy gaped. “Wait, are you saying--you’d let me fuck you?”

Bowing his head, Sanji muttered, “What if I said ‘yes?’”

“It’ll hurt, you know,” the other man warned him seriously. “It always does the first time.”

“I can handle a little pain,” the blonde replied indignantly. He grew up under Zeff’s tutelage, after all--a little physical and emotional pain was just part of the job. But when dealing with Luffy, he could back out whenever he wanted. Their relationship was secure. A little pain is nothing to someone who knows they are safe.

Sanji looked up at him pleadingly. “I just … want to feel you.”

Luffy gave him that searching stare again, the one that turned him inside out and transparent. Sanji steeled himself, trying to abolish any weakness that Luffy might find. They sat there unmoving for so long he wondered if it was over, but eventually Luffy consented.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop,” he commanded, to which the blonde nodded enthusiastically. Luffy took a deep breath. “Alright. Then I guess we’ll get you out of those pants first.”

He clutched the waistband of Sanji’s trousers, negotiating them off with some help. He divested Sanji of his briefs much more swiftly, leaving his lower half completely exposed.

“Oh, and do me a favor, would you?” Luffy added impishly, reaching up with his free hand to push two fingers against his lover’s lips. With another deep red flush, Sanji granted him entrance, mouth flooding with the taste of sweat and skin. He licked Luffy’s fingers, coating them thickly. Removing them, Luffy leaned down once more to suck Sanji’s cock into his mouth. As he slurped away he carefully nudged the two wet digits against the other man’s hole. Sanji groaned, tensing up as they slowly slipped inside.

“Fuck,” he gasped. The two fingers scissored briefly and then began to thrust in and out. It felt good, but only by merit of the pleasure produced Luffy’s busy mouth. Another finger pressed in gradually and Sanji started to grasp how tight of a fit Luffy’s dick would be in comparison. The fingers wriggled in farther, stretching as they went until suddenly like a bolt of lightning, pleasure shot through his entire body. He cried out, trembling, and before he could process what happened all three fingers were thrusting with confidence, sending shockwaves through his stomach over and over.

“Fucking stop!” Sanji begged, pushing on Luffy’s head. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that …!”

Luffy pulled his mouth off again, eyeing him curiously. “Are you ready for me, then?”

“As ready as I’m going to get,” the blonde panted.

Needing no further prompting, Luffy stripped off his own boxers and settled between Sanji’s legs. His length bobbing freely, drawing Sanji’s half-lidded stare. He really was big, especially in comparison to his fingers. In spite of his discomfort Sanji let Luffy open his legs wide and spread his pink entrance. Guiding his cock into place with a hand, Luffy pushed in as slow as he could manage. He breached the first ring of muscle with a loud pop, sending an arc of fire up Sanji’s spine.

“Shit, sorry, I got impatient,” Luffy hissed. “I hope you’re not bleeding …”

“Don’t stop to look, dumbass. I’m--nnh--fine. Just move … or do something …” Sanji growled, clasping a hand around the back of the other man’s neck. Though, shit, it hurt a lot more than he expected.

Luffy cautiously rolled his hips, driving deeper with each movement, until he was submerged to the root. He breathed haggardly, “Fuck, shit, Sanji, you’re so tight. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m _fine_ already,” Sanji said angrily. “Just get on with--aah!”

Blue eyes flew open as Luffy gave a short, rough thrust. Sanji couldn’t tell if it felt good or not, all he knew was his skin was on fire. He clung to Luffy’s neck, nails digging in to fight the pain. For the first few thrusts Luffy faltered but he quickly picked up a steady rhythm, muttering apologies in the blonde’s ear until the burn died down enough for him to see straight. Not too long after Luffy struck that tender spot deep inside, making Sanji curled inward with a low shout. Apparently Luffy could distinguish that cry from the others because he pushed Sanji’s knees against his chest and bore down, pistoning in and out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sanji bleated as Luffy mercilessly drove him onwards. “Please, oh God, harder--”

Luffy was all too happy to oblige, picking up the pace. He nestled his face in the crook of Sanji’s neck, grunting and moaning against his skin.

“I’m gonna--fucking--” Sanji wheezed in ecstasy, rolling his hips. “Shit, Luffy--!”

A rope of come spattered across his stomach, spurting in time as Luffy continued to pound into his hips. His toes curled, every muscle locking up, and he could no longer breathe. Luffy brokenly groaned out Sanji’s name and then filled his insides fill with heat.

Gradually slowing to a stop, Luffy half-collapsed against Sanji, hot breath washing over his chest. Both men panted heavily, the buzz of the afterglow still fresh on their skin.

Then, without warning--even to himself--Sanji blurted out, “I think I love you.”

He heard Luffy stop breathing. The man lifted himself up, shooting him a confused look. “Because of the sex?”

“No, you idiot,” Sanji grumbled, cheeks pink. He pushed Luffy’s face away. “Just … in general.”

Luffy regarded him for a moment before pulling out, eliciting a wince. He rolled onto his back on the futon.

“So you _think_ you love me?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t have let you ride my ass that hard if I didn’t,” Sanji pointed out. “So yeah. I love you.”

An awkward silence fell over the room, along with a faint draft. Already Sanji wanted a shower--he could feel something dripping down his leg. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to get up now, having laid his heart on the line without receiving a concrete response.

“Well?” he demanded. “You got something to say?”

Luffy stared at him blankly for a few moments. Then he started laughing hysterically.

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that? You think I have a comeback for everything? You … said you love me …”

His smile faltered as a single tear dripped from his eye. He wiped it away furiously, only for a hundred more to fall in its place.

Putting both hands on his shoulders, Sanji asked with concern, “Why are you crying?”

The younger man covered his face, sniffling, and sobbed, “I never thought I’d get to hear you say it. But you did. You really love me. Right?”

“Of course. Didn’t I just say that?” Sanji answered softly. He brushed a few black locks from Luffy’s face, removing them from the path of tears. “I really mean it. Do you believe me?”

He received a wordless nod in response. His heart filled with relief, lifted from the last of the burdens Sanji had carried in the past many months.

“Good. And I don’t take confessions lightly, so you’ll be stuck with me for a long time. You better be prepared.”

Luffy chuckled thickly, wiping his eyes. “I think I can live with that.”

 

~ & ~

 

The next morning Sanji woke up alone and sore as hell. Right--he got fucked in the ass. Big surprise that he was more than a little achy.

He crawled to the couch and braced himself on the armrest, just managing to pull himself to his feet. Finding his underwear tangled up in the sheets he threw them on and hobbled to the bathroom. When he came back out, he saw Luffy had appeared, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He turned at the sound of Sanji’s approach and gestured for him to come sit down.

“So, I’ve been thinking …” Luffy began.

Sanji quipped with a yawn, “You should probably leave the thinking to me.”

Luffy smacked him playfully. “I’ve been thinking really hard about you and the Baratie. You said that you want to work there forever, right? Do you still feel that way?”

“It’s always been my dream,” Sanji proclaimed resolutely. No matter what pain Zeff (unintentionally) put him through, that hadn’t changed.

“Then why don’t you just make a chain of Baraties?”

That caught the blonde man off guard. “A chain?”

“Yeah. That way you can keep your dream and put Zeff at ease,” Luffy explained. “He can’t complain if you’re running your own restaurant.”

“Huh … You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Sanji murmured. He tried to picture a new Baratie. Should they make a replica, or maybe try for a new building shape entirely? “Zeff could hook me up with some good chefs and equipment. Though, getting the money would be the biggest problem.”

“Well see, I pitched the idea to Gramps first,” Luffy followed up encouragingly. “I don’t know anything about how businesses work, so I asked him for suggestions. He said he felt a Baratie chain was the perfect thing for him to invest in. He knows some officers who’d be willing to do the same.”

The blonde sighed. “And the catch?”

“You train a certain number of Marine chefs there every year.”

Of course, as usual, good fortune came at a price. But at least Sanji would get to kick around a few trainees. Maybe they’d finally learn how to cook properly.

“We’ll have to meet with Zeff sometime and sort this all out,” Sanji stated, his excitement slowly growing. A Baratie chain--it really was a good idea. And he liked the concept of having his own restaurant, where no one could tell him what to do--not even the shitty geezer from the home branch.

“You’ll give me a job there too, right?” Luffy grinned.

A job at the Baratie? Luffy? Sanji emphatically waved away the ridiculous notion, saying, “I wouldn’t even let you be a busboy. I can’t imagine the mess you’d make of the place.”

Luffy chuckled in agreement. “But I can still help you out, right?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Sanji smiled, draping an arm around his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! This project was a collaboration in every sense of the word, and I couldn't be happier with how turned out. There are so many things I could say about how this project has helped me as a writer, but I think I'll let the story speak for itself. Thanks again so much to twosecondslighter--I can't wait to work together again in the future.


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